


Better to Reign in Hell

by copperbadge



Category: Marvel, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has known since childhood that he was Jotun. He's been told all his life that he was a fosterling sent to Asgard to cement the bonds between their realms. He's been led to believe one day he would ascend the throne of Jotunheim. <i>Loki has been lied to.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When We Are Kings Together

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not one for apologia when it comes to Loki. In the canon he's a mass-murdering dick, and in this story he is certainly not always a nice person. But I do love playing with how different circumstances change people.
> 
> Thanks to Anya and Kallaneboi for betas!
> 
> This fic may also be found at my **[Dreamwidth Archive.](http://sam-storyteller.dreamwidth.org/179267.html)**

Loki had heard the whispers since he was a child. _Unnatural_ , they said. _The ice child_ , they called him. _The pretender prince_.

Frigga always told him to pay no attention to the whispers and the gossip. She told him that his foster father loved him and so did she. And he had his foster brother Thor, and their father told them great stories of battles with other realms. Though never with Jotunheim, which was a shame -- Loki would have liked to have heard about his home realm, even if it was stories of his kinsmen at war with Asgard.

Loki had great expectations of returning to Jotunheim one day, strengthening the uneasy truce by ascending the throne. With his brother on the throne in Asgard, they could unite their realms in friendship and enlarge their glory together.

In the meantime he went into battle at Thor's side, joined in hunts with the Lady Sif, and feasted and joked with the Warriors Three -- though perhaps never as boisterously as they did. He was a prince, after all.

"When we are kings together," he told Thor, a few days before the ceremony that would declare his brother crown prince in the eyes of the realm, "we should go hunting in Jotunheim. I am sure they must have great beasts there. We are giants, after all."

"Are you now?" Thor asked, grinning down at him.

"Someday I will assume my true form, and then we shall see who wins in a contest of arms," Loki replied loftily.

"I shall never fight you when we are kings," Thor said. "But I will go hunting with you in Jotunheim. And I am certain I will bring back more trophies than my little foster brother."

"Arrogant ass." Loki grinned at him.

"I am to be king, and so are you. Why shouldn't we be arrogant? Kings must be strong to rule."

Indeed they must, Loki thought, as he slipped down the hallways of his foster father's palace, hurrying towards the passage he'd marked out a year ago, when the planning had begun for Thor's presentation to the court. He had sent a message to Jotunheim, unsure it would pass through, but he would know today if it did. His kinsmen would be waiting for him to open the gates between realms, and he would meet the first true Jotuns he had ever known.

Wouldn't his foster parents be pleased and excited with his surprise? An envoy from Jotunheim, their son's first foray into diplomacy, and a great honor for his brother Thor.

***

"Well," Loki said, standing with Thor in the throne room. "That went not at all to plan."

"What did you do that for?" Thor asked. In front of them, half a dozen palace guards were standing over the kneeling form of a single Jotun. The others had been sent home, abruptly and with no returning gifts nor any acknowledgement, and Laufey had been sent for. Loki couldn't contain his trembling.

"I wanted an envoy of my kinsmen to see you crowned prince," he said, still a little bewildered by what had happened.

"Why didn't you tell father?"

Loki shrugged. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, it certainly was that," Thor remarked.

If only the Jotuns had sent better emissaries, Loki thought. If only one of them hadn't snuck off to try and rob the treasure vault, or if he'd kept a closer eye on them -- and now Laufey was coming, his father whom he'd never seen, coming to chastise the thief and perhaps take his son away from Asgard. He wasn't certain if what he felt was terror or excitement. Perhaps today he would go home. Even if it was in shame, as a punishment -- Odin still loved him, he must, and Loki knew Thor did. This would not break the fragile peace. It could not.

That was why Loki existed: to unite the kingdoms. If he had failed in that --

"King Laufey of Jotunheim," the herald announced, and the room grew cold. Loki looked down; his skin had taken on a slight blue tinge. Seeing it sent a little frisson of pleasure through him.

He kept his eyes forward as Laufey stalked down the carpeted path, armed Aesir on either side, and presented himself before the throne. He was tall, Loki thought, but difficult to look at -- all spikes and crenellations, glittering edges, sharp curves and angles.

"I am sent for like an errant child over matters I have had no concern in," he said, before Odin could speak. "Pray tell me, Allfather, why this insult to Jotunheim?"

"No insult to Jotunheim," Odin replied. "Except to say that one of your court is a thief."

Laufey glanced backwards at the kneeling Jotun. "I think, Allfather, he did not take anything that was not stolen from us."

"The spoils of war are not theft, nor is tribute from a conquered nation," Odin replied sharply.

"Conquered!" Loki said, and every eye fell on him. "You are under treaty to Jotunheim."

Odin didn't answer, but Laufey studied him only briefly before saying, "Your whelp, Allfather?"

"No, yours," Loki snapped, stung. "Or do you not recognize your son, Laufey of Jotunheim?"

The entire court went still. Laufey reached out and Loki stood still, proud, as a chill finger traced its way down his cheek. It left a stiff, cold sensation in its wake.

"This boy is a Jotun," Laufey said, turning to Odin.

"I am your son," Loki insisted. "Do you not remember?"

"I remember a son lost to the war," Laufey said. "I know of no other son you could be."

"No, this is wrong!" Loki said, appealing to Odin. "I am your foster child. I am to be king of Jotunheim -- "

"King?" Laufey snorted. "You who have worn an Aesir form all these many years?"

Loki felt his face heat. "I am the crown prince of Jotunheim."

"You have brothers. Sisters, too. My children who know their place," Laufey said carelessly. "Jotunheim does not want for a king."

Loki turned to Odin. "I was told I would rule. Was this not true, father?"

"You even call him father," Laufey sneered.

"Am I your foster son, freely given?" Loki demanded. "Am I the prince meant to unite the realms, Allfather? Or am I your hostage and prisoner?"

Odin didn't answer immediately, which was in the end all the answer Loki needed.

"You were not given," Laufey said. "You were _taken_. We are not under truce; we are under durance. Do you not tell your children proudly who won the war, Odin? Do you not brag of your subjugation of my people and your theft of our treasure?"

"You lied to me," Loki snarled. Odin growled. "You both lied to me!" he added, turning to his foster mother.

"Loki," Frigga began. "We only meant to -- "

"How many others knew?" he interrupted, turning to the court. "How many of you knew and did not see fit to tell the prince of Jotunheim he was a prisoner of Asgard?" He looked to Thor. "Did you know?"

"You cannot believe I did," Thor said, low, intense. "You cannot believe I would deceive you, Loki, my brother."

"I am not your brother!" Loki shouted, voice rising, even as shame at his undisciplined behavior washed over him. "I am neither a son of the Allfather nor of Laufey, not anymore."

"You may return to Jotunheim," Laufey said, glancing at Odin. "You may, in time, be acknowledged a prince."

"I will not be a prince of a realm where I should rule! And I will not," he added, whirling back to Odin, "be a prisoner of Asgard for no crime of my own."

"Mind your tongue, my son, before it causes you grief," Odin warned.

"Mind my tongue! You denied me my true form, my heritage -- you've stolen my throne from me! Why should I mind my tongue, when I am neither Aesir nor Jotun? Why, pray, Allfather, should I keep my peace? Have I not imprisonment to repay with crimes? I repudiate your paternity, great Laufey, and I repudiate your realm, great Allfather. Your war has done this to me -- "

Odin snarled wordlessly and stood, staff pounding on the ground. Loki fell silent, startled.

"If you do not care for Asgard any longer, there are other realms," he bellowed, and reached for Loki. He ducked away, shocked, but Odin grasped one of the horns of his helmet and tugged. It was ripped from his head, and Loki stumbled backwards.

"I strip you of your princehood," Odin said, and Laufey did nothing. "I strip you of your place in court and I banish you. If you will not serve as a prince, die as a mortal on Midgard."

"Father, no -- " Thor started forward, but Odin had already grabbed Loki by his collar, thrusting him sideways, into the swirling vortex that formed in the throne room. He heard Thor's cry of anger as he fell, but it was the last of Asgard he heard.

***

In a dark, sterile guest room in Tony Stark's Malibu mansion, sometime after two in the morning, Phil Coulson's phone rang.

He groaned and rolled over, groping for it. He'd been out most of the afternoon and all of the evening, chasing down old west coast cold cases, trusting Natasha to either mind Stark or give him his head. He'd returned to find Stark ferreting around in his basement workshop, apparently being productive, and so he'd pulled rank for once, commandeering a guest room in the mansion and intending to speak to Stark in the morning about his little trip.

"Coulson," he mumbled into the phone.

"There's been a crashdown in New Mexico," Fury's voice said in his ear. Coulson sat upright.

"Alien origin?" he asked.

"Scientists seem to think so. I'm pulling you off Stark."

"Thank Christ," Phil muttered. "Send me the coordinates?"

"Already sent. There's a team on the way. You're on a noon flight tomorrow to Almagordo. There'll be a rental car waiting for you."

"Where in New Mexico?"

"Puente Antiguo. Population two thousand."

"Oh. Good," Phil sighed.

"It's not all bad. Think of it like a vacation."

"Yes, that's what you said about Malibu."

Fury laughed down the line. "Before you consider offing me and taking over SHIELD, bear in mind I did send Hawkeye with the team."

"That's supposed to make me happy?" Phil asked, but he was smiling. "I'll call in with a prelim when I get there."

"Enjoy the Land of Enchantment," Fury said, and hung up.

***

Loki awoke in a very white room, whiter than anything he'd ever seen. He was wearing a ceremonial robe of some sort, and his wrists were bound to the bed.

He'd heard stories about Midgard. They practiced ritual sacrifice, it was said. This all seemed very...sacrificial.

"I beg your pardon, novice," he said, to the man in green vestments standing over him. He had a metal square in one hand, and he jumped in surprise when Loki spoke.

"Oh, you're awake!" the man exclaimed. Loki fought an eyeroll.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"You're in the hospital. You had a nasty run-in with a van. How are you feeling?"

"Constricted," Loki replied. He wondered what religious order was running the hospital.

"Sorry, when they brought you in they thought you might be having some...issues," the man replied.

"Would you mind terribly...?" Loki asked, smiling charmingly.

"Sorry, I can't," the man replied. "Listen, we don't have a name for you. Can you tell me your name?"

"Is that vital?"

"Well, we like to have it. If you're indigent, we have a program, you won't have to pay anything. Besides, you're the one that got hit."

"Yes, I suppose I am," Loki murmured.

"Your name?"

"Loki -- " he started, and then stopped. There was a time he would have said Loki son of Laufey, foster prince of Asgard, but neither title suited him anymore.

"Lucky, huh? Yeah, I'd say so. From the sound of it you took a pretty bad pounding from the van that hit you, but your vitals are all good," the man said cheerily.

"Not Lucky. Loki," he said sharply. "Loki...of Midgard."

"Loki Ofmidgard. Huh. Norwegian?"

"I do not know what that means," Loki said. "I really would like to be released. My nose itches."

"Well, you seem pretty lucid," the man said, but he made no move to unbind Loki's wrists. "We need to get a psychiatric consult in here."

"Please?" Loki asked. "It _does_ itch so. Just one hand; swear I shan't tell."

The man looked dubious. Loki put on his saddest face. It wasn't difficult.

"Fine, but only for a minute, then I have to restrain you again," the man said.

"My thanks, novice. What's your name?" Loki asked, as the man bent to uncuff his right wrist.

"I'm Darrel," the man replied.

"Darrel, I am quite sorry," Loki said, and his right hand darted up, grasping Darrel by the throat. He threw the man sideways into the wall with enough force to knock him unconscious, sending one of the many machines surrounding the bed crashing down off its little wheeled cart. Loki unbuckled the other restraint quickly, rolled out of the bed, and pressed himself up against the wall next to the door. When the expected novices burst in -- two huge burly men in the same green vestments -- he raised a hand and whispered low, casting a spell that would fill the room with mist.

The mist dramatically failed to appear.

Loki frowned, looked down at his hands, and cast it again. The novices turned to glare at him.

"Damn," he said feelingly, and legged it.

This was not a place of healing so much as a labyrinth, he thought, as he ran full-out through the corridors, skidding around corners and pulling empty beds (clearly the resting places of the so-called hospital's last sacrificial victims) down behind him to block the way. Not for nothing was he called a trickster, though; he managed to get enough distance that when he turned another corner, nobody would see where he went. He burst through a door, dodged left, and darted into one of the many rooms in the empty hallway.

There was a small child on a large bed in the room. The child had no hair, and the room was filled with gaily colored artwork.

"Hello," the child said. It was probably a girl. "Are you the clown?"

"What, pray, is a clown?" Loki asked.

"They're horrible. They come to try and cheer us up. I hate clowns," she replied.

"I am definitely not a clown," Loki replied firmly.

"Then why are you here?"

"I am escaping the novices," Loki said. "Are they planning to sacrifice you, too?"

"I hope not. I'm just here for chemo," she replied.

"Are chemos like clowns?"

She laughed. "You're funny."

"Thank you. Does your window open?"

She waved at it, and he fumbled with the strange latch for a moment before lifting it and pushing out the screen. He was about ten feet off the ground; not a difficult jump. He got halfway out and then turned back to her. "Would you care to come with me?"

"I'd better not. Mom wouldn't like it."

"Well, I wish you all luck in avoiding clowns," he said, and jumped.

He landed on his feet, stumbled, and started to run again. The robe they'd swaddled him in was hardly sufficient for escaping, and it gaped something fierce in the nether regions, but he'd done more with less. There was a large flat stretch of stone in front of him, populated with what looked like very small metal houses, and he could probably steal some clothing from one of them.

He was just peering into one, plotting the easiest way to break the glass window and wondering about the purpose of the circular device inside, when something collided with him. There was a squeal, and one of the houses -- which apparently could move quite quickly -- stopped abruptly right next to his head.

"I swear I'm not doing this on purpose!" said a voice, and Loki pushed himself up on his elbows.

"You hit me with your tiny house!" he said indignantly.

"He's definitely crazy," a second voice said. Midgardian women, he realized.

"Quick, hide me," he said, because he could hear yelling from inside the hospital.

"Are you sure you don't need -- "

"They'll kill me!" Loki said.

The women exchanged glances.

"You hit me with your house, you owe me," Loki added.

"He's cute for being so crazy," one of the women said.

"Come on," said a new voice, belonging to a Midgardian man standing behind the two women. He opened one wall of the house and Loki crawled into it. It was warm, and had very soft carpeting. "Jane, drive."

"But he -- "

"Jane!"

Loki lay back on the carpeting, stared at the ceiling, and took a few short, calming breaths. He was nearly naked, apparently without magic, and this house was moving very fast.

***

Coulson arrived at the site of the crashdown after a night spent in a cheap motel just outside Puente Antiguo, trying to sleep in one bed while Hawkeye sawed logs in the other. They really should have gone out to the site as soon as they arrived, but he'd been exhausted by then; only half the SHIELD caravan was ready, anyway. And he hadn't counted on this.

Down in the crater, easily two dozen men were gathered, and a handwritten sign screaming TRY YOUR STRENGTH AGAINST THE ALIEN SPACE SATELLITE $5 was propped against a table. Below it in slightly smaller letters was BREAKFAST $4. BEER $8. Someone was cooking sausages on a camp stove nearby. 

"Highway robbery," Hawkeye said, nodding at the price for beer.

"Depends what's on tap," Coulson replied. "Flag down the transport and get them started on clearing the yahoos out. I'll let Fury know we found it."

Director Fury was a busy man, and the call didn't last too long. Hawkeye was just leading the transport off the road and down to the lip of the crater when Coulson elbowed his way through the crowd around the artifact and took five dollars out of his wallet. The men, most of them a head taller than him and all of them heavier, laughed. Still, one took his money and gestured for him to give it a try.

The artifact was gleaming even under the desert dust, an iridescent gold that was hypnotic to look at. Coulson studied it. An empty circlet, simple and smooth, with two long protrusions sticking up from one side like horns. The horns tapered to points so sharp that one sliced easily into his finger when he tested it. The blood dripped down onto the burnished gold and disappeared. Well, nothing ventured...

He tightened a hand on each horn, locked his elbows, and lifted.

It was like trying to move carved stone. It didn't even budge, didn't give an inch. One of the men muttered, _Sorry, buddy._

"Me too," Coulson said, taking his badge wallet out of his inside pocket. "My name is Agent Coulson. I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We're a federal agency tasked with recovery of fallen satellites."

"Aw, shit," one of them said. A few others, who had the look of men who'd done time, were already backing away. The enterprising beer-and-breakfast salesman had begun shoving his implements haphazardly into the back of a pickup truck.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you gentlemen to clear the area," Coulson added.

"It's a cover-up," one of them said, getting right up in Coulson's face. "You can't just sweep this under the rug."

"I assure you, it's safer for all concerned -- "

"Bullshit! I saw that movie about Roswell!"

Coulson sighed. Seventy years, and a god damned weather balloon was still giving law enforcement headaches.

"If you don't leave, we'll be forced to evacuate you using any legal means at our disposal," Coulson said. He could see SHIELD agents appearing at the rim of the crater, but this could get ugly fast.

"You ain't gonna push us around," the man replied, and shoved Coulson hard in the shoulder.

Well, tried to. Coulson twisted, gripped the man's arm, and flipped three hundred pounds of redneck to the ground effortlessly.

"You're welcome to try," he told a couple of the others who looked like they were about to start something. "But I charge more than five dollars."

A series of soft clicks from the ridge made the crowd look up. Half a dozen trained SHIELD agents were aiming very large guns at them.

Coulson smiled.

***

It turned out that the small moving houses were actually called 'vans' or 'cars', and were rather like enclosed chariots. The Midgardians who'd rescued Loki took him to their actual home, a smallish hut on the outskirts of a village, and gave him a pair of trousers that hung low on his hips and a shirt with a very ill-conceived drawing of a winged horse on it. Apparently the horse's name was Fluttershy.

They introduced themselves as well. The driver of the van was called Jane, clearly a fosterling like himself -- or like he'd thought he was. The smaller woman, who wore dark-tinted glasses, was named Darcy ("Darcy Lewis." "Darcy Llews." "No, Lewis. Loooooooooooewis." "Darcy Looooooo'is! I shall remember that.") and the man was called Erikselvig. Now that was a proper name.

"And I am Loki," he said, accepting a small box from Darcy.

"Yeah you are," she replied. He sighed.

"Loki, not Lucky."

"Whatever, Lucky. Eat up."

He studied the box. She took it from him, opened two flaps in the top, and took out a silvery package. She opened that too, and offered him two flat wafers from within. When she made an encouraging gesture, he took one and bit into it. It was rather like some sort of fruit jam wrapped in thick paper. Still, she didn't warn him not to eat the papery substance, so he ate both of the wafers to show polite and then demurred when she offered him a second package.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. Hey! Erik!"

"Yes!" Erik called, from where he was in unsubtle consultation with Jane about Loki.

"Let's get something to eat, I'm starving and Lucky doesn't like Pop Tarts."

The feasting halls on Midgard were extremely small, but Loki couldn't deny they were generally cleaner than those on Asgard. And they had some marvelous drinks.

"I like this!" he said, draining the cup of thick, dark, hot liquid the serving woman had placed before him. He offered it to her with a smile. "May I have another?"

"Well, you're crazy with manners, at least," Jane sighed. Loki accepted the refilled cup from the serving woman and had just sipped and set it down when Darcy grabbed his arm.

"I like your ink," she said, turning his left arm over. "What is that, some kind of gamer thing?"

Loki stared down at his wrist, appalled. There was a symbol inked in dark red right below the heel of his hand: three interlocked triangles, elegant and complex.

"What's on your other wrist?" Darcy asked, and Loki turned his other hand over, comparing the two. Inked into his right wrist in blue was a multi-pointed star, one point longer than the others.

"This is the symbol of Odin Allfather, the royal insignia of Asgard," he said, pulling his wrist out of her grip. Darcy looked at him blankly, but he saw Erik sit up a little straighter. "And this is the sign of Jotunheim, Laufey's shieldblazon. They are the realms of my birth and upbringing."

"Uh, okaaaay," Darcy said. "Are you like...really into heavy metal or something?"

He didn't know what that was, but it seemed safest to agree. "Yes," he said gravely. "Indeed I am."

"Well, nobody's perfect," Darcy sighed.

"Can you tell me," Loki said, ignoring that, "how I came to be in the place of 'healing'?"

"The hospital?" Jane asked.

"Yes, that place. From which you most graciously rescued me," he added, with his most charming smile.

"Jane hit you with the van," Darcy said.

"He jumped in front of it!" Jane hissed.

"You did hit him a little," Erik put in.

"There was an atmospheric disturbance we were studying," Jane insisted. "We had very limited visibility. You came out of nowhere and just -- wham, right into the van."

"So," Loki said delicately, "twice you have struck me with your van?"

"I'm not doing it intentionally," Jane replied. "Do you remember any of it?"

"I do not," Loki said. "The last memory I have is of being cast from Asgard. I knew not where I landed, except that I am now in the realm of Midgard."

"Actually, you're in New Mexico," Jane said.

"I was not aware of that particular realm," Loki said, concerned now. "Is this not Midgard?"

"It is," Erik said, and clearly the two women weren't expecting him to say that. More interesting by the moment. "New Mexico...lies within the realm. Though I don't know that I should be indulging your psychosis to that extent."

"Excellent," Loki said. "A start. Who is the king of Midgard?"

"Is that a riddle?" Jane asked.

" _Is_ it?" Loki countered.

"Erik, what's he talking about?"

"Not now, Jane," Erik replied.

"I would be satisfied with the lord of New Mexico, if that would be more appropriate," Loki offered. He looked up as a handful of large, sun-darkened men walked in.

"Usual please, Izzy," one of them said, settling on a stool at the long table in front of the kitchen. "You missed the excitement this morning."

"I told you nothing good wouldn't come outta going down to that crater," the woman called Izzy scolded. Loki noticed one of the men sporting an impressive bruise on the side of his face. "I'll get you some ice, sugar."

"Benny here decided to tell the Fed who showed up that he knew alllll about Roswell, didn't you, Benny?" the man said. His companions snickered.

"He was a little guy, how'd I know he was some kinda judo master?" Benny said.

"What were y'all getting up to that you got the attention of the federal government?" Izzy asked. Loki flicked his eyes to his companions and saw that Jane and Darcy were both watching the little drama play out with interest.

Erikselvig was still watching Loki.

"There was a satellite crashed down," one man said.

"It was alien," Benny said sulkily, as Izzy handed him a bag of ice.

"Excuse me," Jane said. "A satellite?"

"Sure. Bout twenty miles west of here."

"What did it look like?" Erik asked, turning around.

"Oh, I dunno. Circular thing about yea big," one of the men said, making a circle with his hands. "Two big curved antenna stickin' up. It's stuck in the ground pretty hard."

Loki felt himself go very still, but otherwise he didn't react. It sounded like his helm; the Allfather had ripped it from his head, but perhaps he'd cast it into the void after him. A sort of parting shot. The helm was Uru, and could be drawn upon for magical workings, if he could recover it.

"Anyway, feds're all over it now," he continued. "Benny, you're a lucky sumbitch that suit didn't stamp your ass _Postage paid to Gitmo_."

"Well," Loki said, and Erik and Jane and Darcy all turned back to him. "This has been, if I may say so, an enlightening treat. Truly, the hospitality of New Mexico shall be known far and wide. If you will excuse me, however, I should not like to trespass any more on your time."

He stood, and he was already out the door and halfway down the street when Darcy the Persistent caught up with him.

"So where are you going?" she asked. "I mean, do you have a place to stay?"

Loki lifted his face, shielding his eyes. "West," he said.

"Lemme guess. About twenty miles?"

"Truly, you possess exceeding wisdom," he drawled.

"Smartass. What do you want with a satellite? The place is surrounded by Feds."

"Are Feds like clowns?" he asked.

"What?"

"I fear no creature. How large is a Fed? If I had a horse and a good spear I should make short work of them."

"You can't go around spearing Feds!"

"Why?" he asked. "Are they sacred to Midgard?"

"You are grade-A crazy, Lucky."

"May I borrow your van?" he asked.

"Do you have a license?"

"Yes," he said. "I certainly do."

"He can't have our van," Jane said, catching up to them as well.

"Excellent, a committee," Loki sighed, and then blinked. A van had driven past -- "Is that not your van?" he asked, following it with his eyes.

"What -- HEY!" Jane yelled, and then they were all running past him, up to the hut where they lived.

***

"So," Coulson said, studying the artifact as Hawkeye jogged up to him. "Any interesting intel?"

"Yeah, one or two nibbles," Hawkeye replied. "One of the guys we ran off was trying to be real helpful."

Coulson sighed.

"No, honestly, I didn't do anything to him. He said there's a scientist in the nearest town who studies, and I quote, _clouds and shit_ ," Hawkeye said. "She's got a bunch of atmospheric survey equipment. Apparently right before the crashdown there was a big storm around here. He said he was sure she'd've been out in it."

"You get a name?"

"Dr. Jane Foster. Working with a Dr. Erik Selvig."

Coulson glanced at him. "Selvig? Where do we know that name from?"

"Known associate of Dr. Bruce Banner, sir; astrophysicist."

"Ah. Anything else?"

"Well, some of the guys said they thought this was a sacred indian burial ground but I can't see myself how that'd be relevant."

"If the furniture starts to move on its own, we'll revisit that theory. In the meantime..."

"Going to pay a visit to Dr. Foster?"

"I really do think we should," Coulson agreed.

The moment he saw Foster's setup in town, Coulson knew things would get unpleasant. He'd brought a couple of cars and a truck, just in case, and was now glad he had. Foster had an ideal arrangement of equipment for monitoring readings on the artifact, and at any rate she couldn't be allowed to investigate the crashdown further. He put a team on documenting and confiscating her equipment, and they were nearly done when the doctor herself showed up.

"What are you _doing?_ " she demanded. Right on cue, the Unpleasantness. Coulson genuinely took no joy from upending a person's life, and disliked confrontation; still, it seemed unavoidable. The older man with her, who was wisely trying to restrain her, that would be Selvig; there was also a younger woman who was probably some kind of assistant, if her defense of the machinery was anything to go by, and a young, extremely pale man who watched it all with a strangely detached air.

"I can't just buy replacements at Radio Shack," Dr. Foster insisted, crumpling the check Coulson handed her. Nobody ever accepted checks; he blamed conspiracy-theory thriller films full of noble self-sacrificing heroes. "I made most of this myself!"

"Then I'm sure you can do it again," he replied, trying to keep her talking so that she wouldn't interfere with his agents' work.

"And I'm sure I can sue you for violating my constitutional rights!"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Foster, but we're the good guys," he tried.

"So are we! I'm on the verge of understanding something extraordinary, and everything I know about the phenomenon is either in this lab or in this book, and you can't just take this awa -- "

Coulson tried not to smile as the book was snatched out of her hand. Really, it gave him no pleasure, it was just...funny timing.

The agent shoved her back when she tried to recover the book, but Coulson was distracted by a scuffle in the corner; Jane's young assistant had her arms wrapped around the thick bicep of Sullivan, one of the biggest guys in the squad. Her hands were firmly gripping her StarkPod.

"Gimme that back, I just put like thirty new songs on it!" she cried. Coulson crossed the floor hurriedly to help untangle her. Before he knew what was happening, a slim set of fingers had gripped his wrist with iron force.

"Unhand the lady Darcy."

It was the pale, detached man who had come up with them, no longer an uninterested bystander. Sullivan stopped moving, the woman kept struggling, and Coulson froze -- his hand on Darcy's elbow, the man's hand tight around his wrist.

"I'm going to need you to take your hand off me," Coulson said calmly.

"Release Darcy Loooo'is and I will consider it," the man replied. His eyes were blazing, an almost unearthly green. Coulson lifted his other hand, ready to compress the man's ulnar nerve and free himself, but the man moved with uncanny speed, intercepting him and blocking his movement. Coulson glanced sideways to find Selvig restraining Foster, and several agents reaching for their sidearms.

"And you are?" he asked, spreading the fingers of his free hand, a subtle signal for the agents to keep their weapons holstered.

"My name is Loki," the man replied. "I am the guest of these people and will not see them robbed or injured."

Coulson twisted his hand, flexing his wrist, but Loki's grip was like iron.

"Release Darcy and return her...device," the man said, "and you will come to no harm."

"Is that so," Coulson said, and there was a soft, wet _thwap_. Loki's eyes rolled up in his head and Coulson caught him by the collar of his t-shirt before he could hit the ground.

" _Oh my God,_ " Darcy yelled, releasing Sullivan. "Is that an _arrow?_ "

"It's only a sedative dart," Coulson said, tugging the hypodermic out of Loki's shoulder and handing it to Sullivan, who nodded and tossed it into the truck along with the StarkPod. "I'm afraid this man is going to have to come with us. Ah-ah," he added, when Darcy moved forward. An actual arrow landed at her feet, sticking at an angle in the cement floor. She froze.

Coulson hoisted the man over his shoulder. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said, and began loading his prisoner into the one remaining car. Hawkeye was sitting on the roof, looking innocent, his bow, blowgun, and quiver already stashed in the trunk.

"Kidnapping a civ? That's like nine pages of paperwork," he said, amiably helping Coulson load the man in the backseat before sliding into the passenger's side.

"He's not a civilian."

"What is he?"

"An anomaly," Coulson said, starting the car.

"You do hate anomalies." Hawkeye glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious man. "He's got good taste in shirts. Though I'm a Rainbow Dash man myself."

"Do I want to know what that means?"

"I'll loan you the DVDs."

"Please don't," Coulson said, and pulled out onto the highway, heading for the site.


	2. Captain Of The Guard

When Loki woke this time, he was slumped on a fragile-feeling chair, in a room with no visible doors. The walls were mirrored, reflecting endless Lokis back to him. He did look a sight; hair disheveled, ridiculously constricting trousers twisted at the cuffs, yellow shirt wrinkled and sporting a small hole where some assassin had hit him. Thor had never thought much of men who hid and attacked their enemies covertly, but Loki could appreciate the craftsmanship of stealth, and he took a moment to admire the small red wound. A clean shot, straight into a vein.

"You're awake," said a voice, and one of the mirrored walls opened to admit the man from before, the one who had laid hands on Darcy. Loki peered at him, curious. Clearly the captain of his men, but unassuming and almost slight, compared to many of the other warriors. "Welcome to SOHQ 112."

"Should that mean something to me?" Loki asked.

"Probably not."

"May I know your name? Or shall I call you Captain of the Guard?"

The man smiled slightly. "You can call me Agent Coul's Son. And you're Loki."

"Yes."

"Loki...?"

Loki shook his head. "I carry no patronym."

"I expected that."

"I am your prisoner, I take it."

"Depends on your answers."

"Well, then," Loki said, settling back and spreading his hands. "Ask me your questions."

The son of Coul tilted his head slightly. Like a bird -- one watching its prey.

"You have quite a grip on you," he said finally, pulling up his sleeve to show the finger-shaped bruises on one wrist. "An object falls from the sky in the middle of the desert, and soon after...you show up. But you don't strike me as a soldier of fortune type."

"I have yet to hear a question," Loki prompted.

"A man like you, in a place like this..." Coul's son shot his sleeve down, folding his hands in front of him. "No, you seem more like a solo artist. One of the old gentlemen-of-adventure types. Now you could be a harmless conspiracy theorist -- do you have a blog, by the way?"

Loki considered this. "No."

"If you do, we'll find it."

"I have nothing but the clothes I wear, and those borrowed," Loki said.

"That's an interesting dialect you speak. Not native English?"

Loki frowned. "I fail to see the relevance of my speech to my imprisonment."

"I think," Coul's son said, "that you might not be a soldier of fortune, but you are for hire. You'd like to get your hands on the artifact, which is why you were cozying up to Dr. Foster. No little luddite militia for you, either -- industrial spying is more your game, hm?"

"I am in no man's pay."

"I don't believe you. I'm a busy man, Loki, and I don't like having my time wasted."

"Set me free, and I will never darken your...excessively reflective door again," Loki said, eyes flicking to the thin seam of the mirror behind them. Coul's son sidestepped, blocking his view.

"Who do you work for?" he asked. Loki gazed up at him. "Advanced Idea Mechanics? Hydra? At this point I wouldn't put it past Stark Industries to hire you. We know how Stark likes his little pranks."

Well, honestly, it couldn't dig him any deeper, and it would buy him some time. "And if I were in the employ of Stark, what would happen to me?"

"We'll clear it up with a phone call. I don't especially like him, but with any luck I'll get Potts and she can bail you out. Contingent on your telling the truth, naturally."

"I neither confirm nor deny," Loki said. There was a soft buzzing noise, and Coul's son took a little device like the one they'd stolen from Darcy out of his pocket.

"Don't go anywhere," he said to Loki, and disappeared through the mirrored door.

When it shut, Sif was standing in front of him. Loki smiled.

"My lady, the most warlike Sif," he said, standing. "Has father banished you, as well?"

He regretted it, just a little, as soon as he said it; her eyes were red, her face worried.

"The Allfather has fallen into the Odinsleep," she said tightly. Loki raised his eyebrows. "Your brother rules as his regent while he sleeps."

"What an interesting reign that must be," Loki murmured.

"He's sent me to bring you home, Loki," she said.

"Gracious of him," Loki replied, but there was a slight waver in her voice that he didn't like. "Why such magnanimity?"

"You know how Odin is," she answered. "His temper is quick but he dislikes holding a grudge. If you return, by order of your brother -- "

" -- not. Not my brother," Loki snapped.

"Thor is your brother, Loki," Sif said.

"Did you know?" Loki asked. "Did you know I was not a fosterling?"

"I had heard rumors. I put no stock in them. Thor had not even heard so much and would not have believed them if he had. He misses you, Loki. He wishes you to return."

"He would have done better to prevent my banishment when he had the chance," Loki said, because he was beginning to work out what this was about. "It's a brave man to go against his father's wishes while his father sleeps."

"Thor is confident your banishment was not meant to be permanent. The Allfather will forgive you when he wakes." She hesitated, and then added, "If he wakes."

"If he wakes?"

"Frigga seems uncertain he will."

Loki grinned and leaned forward. More and more fascinating.

"How fares Asgard in my absence and while the Allfather sleeps, dear Sif?" he asked. She flinched. Ah; a bullseye. "Is it peaceful? No trouble from any quarter? Or have the Jotuns decided -- now that their spies are familiar with the palace, and Odin's precious hostage is banished -- that Asgard looks a tasty morsel to add to Laufey's feast?" he said, rising and circling her. "Does my brother wish me back because he loves me, Sif, or because he needs a prisoner? A puppet king to put on the throne of Jotunheim?"

"You can't think Thor would stoop -- "

"There were many things I thought the Aesir would not stoop to, and yet here I stand," he spat. "Return to Thor and tell him I have no desire to be hostage again in Asgard. At least on Midgard they have the decency to tell you when you're a prisoner."

"Loki -- "

"GO!" Loki shouted, and the door opened, Coul's son reappearing even as Sif vanished.

"Go?" he asked mildly. "But I just got here."

***

Phil Coulson had interrogated meaner, angrier, and less cooperative persons of interest than Loki in his time. In the Army, he'd been the expert in his unit; he'd questioned terrorists, collaborators, and the occasional frightened civilian (those were the hardest -- proving their innocence to the higher-ups was an arduous and politically delicate task). At SHIELD, when Hawkeye had brought Natasha Romanoff in, wounded and defiant and skittish as a beaten dog, he'd spent three days questioning her in Russian before she willingly spoke English to him. Outside her little cell -- this was before Nick rose to Director -- his supervisors raised hell and made threats, and Nick ran interference. Only when she started speaking English did the brass stop waving internment papers under his nose every time he emerged. Compared to that, Loki was downright pleasant. 

Didn't mean he wasn't unnerving, though. His utter self-confidence and his unwavering slickness, his seeming detachment from the process and his odd, nerveless curiosity all made Coulson wary.

"Can you tell me," Loki said, when Coulson returned to the interrogation room, "who is it who rules this realm?"

"Why don't you define for me what you mean by realm?" Coulson asked.

"This place. This location. I understand we are in New Mexico. Does it have a lord or magistrate?"

"You want to speak to the governor?"

"That would suffice."

"Why?" Coulson asked.

"I beg your pardon, son of Coul, but I do not believe that to be the concern of men who rob and plunder that which they do not understand."

"You're angry we confiscated Dr. Foster's equipment."

"It matters not to me one way or another," Loki replied, leaning back, bright green eyes never wavering. "I have stolen and lied in my time. The principle is the point; not that you are thieves or that you robbed my hosts, but that I can't trust a thief, can I?"

"And what is it you can't trust me with?" Coulson asked, too wise to defend his actions.

"All manner of things," Loki replied, rising from the chair. Coulson kept still while he paced; he might not be able to take Loki on his own, not with the man's unusual strength, but he'd see an attack coming and could defend himself long enough for reinforcements to arrive. "Where I come from. What my business is in New Mexico."

"You'd allow the governor to question you?"

"Bring me to him, and we shall see."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen," Coulson said. "We're not offering you _options_. You have no choices here. You can tell us what we want to know now, or we can keep you here until you do. That's hardly a position from which to negotiate. Let's work this out, so that we can move on to other things."

Loki had come to stand in front of him, and he had to lift his head slightly to look him in the eye. The man smelled of dust and coffee, with a coppery tang to both that made Coulson think of blood.

"You are trifling with things you cannot possibly understand," Loki said.

"Try me," Coulson replied evenly. Loki made a frustrated noise, but he backed down, settling back into his chair.

Coulson's phone beeped again; the text from Sitwell said _Found him._

"I have to go trifle with some stuff," he said. "You want a glass of water or anything?"

"No, thank you," Loki replied.

Outside in the command center, Sitwell was standing behind one of the computer techs, studying the screen.

"So, fingerprint scan finally turn something up?" Coulson asked, joining him.

"Not a whole lot," Sitwell said drily. "Local hospital checked him in day before yesterday, right after the atmospheric disturbance. Records say he was hit by a car."

"He's looking pretty good for a crash victim."

"You'll love this. Car was registered to Dr. Erik Selvig, driver was Dr. Jane Foster."

"Hm."

"Could be he's just a small time con man," Sitwell said. "Car trick's an old one. Pretend to get hit, milk the driver as far as you can..."

"Yep, used it myself on an op once," Coulson said. "Could be. He's definitely playing with me. On the other hand..." he glanced at the artifact monitor. It sat there, unmoving, only the occasional body passing behind it evidence that it wasn't a still image.

"Does that look like a crown to you?" he asked.

"Not any crown I've ever seen."

"Are you a crown aficionado, Sitwell?"

"I'll show you my collector cards sometime," Sitwell said. Coulson gave him a warning look.

"You know why people buy into cons?" he asked.

"Stupidity?"

"That's unkind. People buy into cons because they either want to believe in something else or don't believe enough in themselves," Coulson replied. "A little voice tells them something's off, but they don't listen. And there is something off about a stranger who speaks like he stepped out of _The Sword in the Stone_ showing up when that thing did. He's not a con man. Or at least, not a little one."

"There's one other thing," Sitwell said. "Storm's coming in. I need your authorization to send nonessential personnel to quarters."

"Keep security at full strength. Get the scientists tucked away."

"Should we cover the artifact?"

"Thing pulled the flatbed off a truck earlier today. I don't think a little rain's going to hurt it," Coulson replied. "I'm going to go take another crack at our guest."

It was barely ten feet from where he stood to the door of the interrogation room; Coulson glanced at the monitor on the room as he passed and saw Loki sitting calmly in the chair, still and composed.

When he opened the door, he paused.

"Monitor," he snapped, and the man watching the security feed looked up.

"Sir?"

"What's the timestamp on your screen?" he asked, checking his watch. 7:12.

"Nineteen hundred twelve, sir."

"So can you explain to me where my prisoner is?" Coulson asked, sliding the door fully open. The room was empty. The man on the monitor peered through, then looked back. He gaped at Coulson, shaking his head.

"Sir?" Sitwell called.

"God _dammit_ ," Coulson said. "Put the facility on lockdown. Radio the gate guards we have a hostile loose in the compound. Seal all entrances to the artifact -- I don't care who's out there, seal them now. I want four patrols on the fences -- " he broke off as thunder crackled overhead. The monitors all around them began fuzzing. "Get agents with radios on the generators. Hawkeye," he called, lifting a radio off the wall, already heading for the artifact.

"Sir!"

"Get up high. Our hostile is loose."

"Already on my way, sir."

"Hold fire to my mark."

"No fun," Hawkeye complained, and Coulson could hear the whine of the crane through the thin plastic walls. Rain rattled against the roof. "How'd he get out, sir?"

"That's what I'd like to know, since all our computers say he's still there."

"Eyes on hostile," an agent broke in. "Southeast quadrant near gate 2B."

"Can't be him," another voice said. "I've got him heading due north."

"Sir, I am looking at the hostile on the second level overlooking the artifact," Hawkeye said.

"Permission to fire on hostile," one of the agents requested.

"Do not fire, I've got eyes on him," Hawkeye replied.

"What the _fuck_..."

"Agent, report," Coulson demanded.

"He just...disappeared, sir. Repeat, Southeast quadrant, hostile has...evaporated."

"I'm getting the same visual at the north gate."

"Permission to fire, sir?" Hawkeye asked.

"Nonlethal, when ready," Coulson replied. He couldn't hear the hiss of the bowstring or the thump of an impact over the radio, and the few seconds of silence were almost unbearable.

"Uh, this is Hawkeye," he heard, after a moment. "Hostile appears to have been a hologram. Sorry, boss."

It was times like this that Coulson sometimes wanted to find his young, idealistic, fresh-from-the-army self and punch him in the face before he could apply to join SHIELD.

"Maintain lockdown. Patrols, keep circling. Everyone else muster in the briefing room for a head count. Patrols, if you find any unauthorized persons, detach and bring them to the briefing room. Hawkeye, hit the ground."

"How the hell did he do it?" Sitwell asked. He tapped the interrogation room monitor. It blitzed for a moment, and the man sitting in it vanished. "Holograms?"

"I'm not certain, but I plan to find out. Hawkeye?"

"Sir."

"Get outside the fence. If you see tracks, follow them. Otherwise get to Foster and Selvig in case he goes to ground there."

He was watching the compound monitors, and he could see Hawkeye turn to find the nearest camera, lifting his face to look at it. "You want me the track and stalk the ninja master of illusion, sir?"

"Without being seen, if at all possible."

A grin broke over Hawkeye's face. "With pleasure, sir."

"Do not engage. You are code white until I say otherwise, understood?"

"Understood, sir," Hawkeye answered, trotting towards the fence. Things like lockdown never really meant much to him, and it was faster than getting Coulson out to authorize him to leave at any rate.

"We are going to go over every inch of this compound in detail," Coulson said, as Hawkeye cleared the fence and loped off into the darkness. "Somebody put on some coffee."

***

Loki had known since he was a young child that mirrors held a certain, potent, specific sort of -- well, undoubtedly the Midgardians called it magic.

He'd always been attuned to it, whatever you cared to call it, far more than Thor or his other friends, far more than most of the court. Not mirrors specifically, but as a part of a greater learning. How to cast mists and illusions, how to trick the senses, how to manipulate the voids between realms and the voids within them sometimes, too. Mirrors were a sort of void -- they presented an illusion of depth they didn't have. More than that, the kinds of mirrors in this little room reflected him back on himself, rows of Lokis extending to the infinite.

Mirror magic was powerful, but one could easily lose oneself in it. Loki kept a careful center as he inched each reflection just slightly closer to himself, pleased that whatever other magic he'd lost, he'd retained enough to manipulate the mirrors, enough to draw each reflection closer. With every second, he could feel power burning through them into him. Still not very much, but enough. He didn't trust the son of Coul, and he very much wanted to leave this place now.

By the time he had enough power for what he wanted -- only a few seconds, but it felt much longer -- a clammy sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his fingers ached from being pressed into his palms. He stood slowly, unsteadily, and left an illusion of himself behind in the iris of the little camera they were watching him with. The door slid aside silently at his gesture. He sent three others -- all he'd been able to construct on short notice -- scudding off in various directions.

There was a man sitting at a device nearby, and a coat on the back of his chair; as Loki passed, he lifted up the coat and pulled it tightly around himself, hiding the bright yellow shirt he wore.

There was the son of Coul, standing with another man, looking at an image on the wall. Yes -- that was his helm, and Loki's fingers flexed against the cuffs of the jacket. It would be so easy to steal through the halls of this labyrinth, find the helm and carry it off, but it was bulky and he had little time, and less energy. Better to get away now, and come back when he was recovered. Instead, he picked up Jane the Fosterling's notebook as he passed, and pocketed Darcy's little black box as well. Whatever it was, clearly it had value.

He slipped through the eastern gate using the last of the power from the mirrors, made his way up the road, and began to walk in the pouring rain.

He felt he was doing rather well adapting to Midgard, despite the imprisonment and the rain, when a giant van pulled up next to him, and a man leaned out of the window.

"Y'car break down?" he asked. Loki slicked his hair out of his face.

"It has!" he called up. "I'm heading east."

"Well, hop in. I can drop you in the next town."

"My thanks," Loki replied, and circled the enormous monstrosity to clamber up into the cab.

"Name's Henry," the man said.

"I am Loki."

"Well, Loki, I hope you like country," the man said.

Loki smiled at him ingratiatingly. "Of course I do."

***

The rain was washing traces away pretty quickly, but this wasn't the first time Clint had tracked prey through a storm. Once he found the tracks at the east gate and followed them up to the main road, he doubled back to the row of black sedans parked next to the gate and found Coulson's. Coulson always left a spare key in the glove compartment, wadded up in the remains of a food wrapper as camo; this time it was a cellophane from a roll of chocolate mini-doughnuts.

Between the rain and the time of night, the highway was empty, but Clint kept his eyes on the road, the asphalt and the edges of it. He slowed but didn't stop when he saw the truck treads in the mud, two or three miles out from the compound; they were a confirmation, nothing more.

Code white meant he was in a holding pattern, something he wasn't especially good at. He was cut off from the project, forbidden to contact them until they contacted him. He was simply to follow and recon until further orders. He'd been in worse Code Whites; he'd only broken it once, bringing Natasha in alive instead of dead.

The big rig that had picked Loki up was long gone by the time Clint rolled into town, but he was pretty sure he could track him on foot from here, especially since the rain had stopped. He parked the car behind a building at the edge, then went the rest of the way on foot, over rooftops mostly, until he had a sightline on Jane Foster's makeshift lab.

He settled down on a roof with a clear view, waiting for the light to come on; he couldn't believe the man would be that dumb, but he'd seen dumber, and his instincts told him Loki was here.

About three minutes later, by his internal clock, his suspicions were confirmed. He wasn't thrilled that they were confirmed by a cold, sharp pinprick between his shoulders.

"Move, and I will rip your entrails out," a voice said in his ear, and cold washed over his face. "Do not mistake docility for pacifism, my bright-eyed friend."

Stupid, stupid. The guy had skills, Clint would give him that. It took a lot to sneak up on him.

"Answer me yes or no. Are you sent to bring me back to the room of mirrors?"

Clint debated this internally. A chill spread down his spine.

"Answer me."

"No," he said.

"Are you sent to watch me?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Will you kill me, should your master give the order?"

"Yes."

"And why should I not kill you first, in this case?"

Clint chose his moment and turned, cold slashing across his ribs, legs kicking out. The face of the man above him was _blue_ , not just the pale white of a man who didn't get enough sun. Loki went sideways and Clint leapt, but one cool hand caught his throat and the other pointed a needle-sharp weapon at his eye.

"Try that again and I shall leave you blind," Loki said. "You would rather die, I think." He smiled mirthlessly. "You have heart, at least. But you are sent to watch, not to kill, not yet."

Clint choked. His skin was freezing.

"And you do not kill without your master's order. So watch me if you will, archer," Loki said, throwing him aside. Clint skidded on the gravel roof, rolled, and crouched, ready to leap. Loki stood over him, the thin clear needle still pointed at him. "And when your master calls, to tell you to kill me or capture me, you tell him I _will_ have my helm. He seems a sensible man; if he pleases he may come to me and barter for it."

"You haven't got anything we want," Clint growled.

"So you believe." Loki bent without moving the blade. He had to think of it as a blade because it sure as hell looked like an icicle. "Know this. My hosts are under my protection. Harm them and neither you nor your master will live to see what I am capable of when angered. There are politics at play you do not understand."

"Try me."

"Your master said that too. Perhaps someday I will, but not today," Loki replied. "I am going now. Fire on me at your peril."

He turned and strode towards the edge of the roof, back to Clint, not bothering to look back. Points for style, anyway.

"See you around," Clint murmured, as Loki dropped lightly over the edge.

***

When Loki reached the home of his hosts, Darcy was the first to greet him; she came out of the very large van next to the hut and ran up to him, beaming.

"You got sprung!" she said.

"I did?" he asked, mystified.

"They let you go!"

"Oh. Indeed," he said, because it saved time. "And I have returned to you."

"I was all fired up to go see if we could talk them into giving you back, but Jane said no, and Erik said we shouldn't go in without a plan, and then I said -- "

"I am certain even the master of the guard himself would be swayed by your charms," Loki interrupted. "But as you see, here I am."

"Oh -- you're back," Jane called, through a window in the overlarge van.

"I've brought you a gift, by the way," Loki said, reaching into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled her book out, holding it up. Jane shrieked and burst out of the van, almost knocking him over in her eagerness.

"How did you -- " she flipped through it. "Thank you! Oh, my God."

"Merely one of many," he replied. Darcy and Jane gave him odd looks.

"You couldn't have taken ten seconds to ask for my -- " Darcy began, but Loki held up the little black box the men had taken from her. "OH YEAH!"

"My apologies I could gain none of your machines back, Erikselvig," Loki said, as Erik joined them.

"I'm not worried," Erik answered. "Glad to see you whole, that's all. SHIELD has a nasty habit of disappearing people."

"We've got leftovers from dinner if you're hungry," Jane offered.

"No, thank you; it's been a most eventful evening," Loki said. He eyed Darcy, who had pushed a few invisible buttons on the box. Sound blasted out, and she was either having some kind of fit or engaging in what passed for dancing on Midgard. "I shall sleep soon, I think."

"Oh, uh." Jane glanced at the van. "Well, if you don't mind sharing a bed with Erik..."

"You assume _I_ don't mind," Erik replied.

"Come on, Erik!"

"Well, a man likes to be asked, that's all..."

Loki watched, amused, as Jane and Erikselvig turned to climb back into the large van, still bickering about where he was to sleep, though Jane had her nose buried in her book as well. Darcy was still engaging in a celebratory dance to the primitive 'music' emerging from the device, eyes closed, and he settled down on one of the nearby chairs to consider his situation.

"What noise is this?" he asked, as the music changed to a new song.

"Watch it, metalhead," she replied. "This is Mumford & Sons. Do not diss the Mumford."

"He must be a great bard."

Darcy gave him a funny look, flopping into the chair next to him and fiddling with the box so that the music was quieter. She tugged a blanket off the chair and wrapped the thick woven wool around her.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked. "We could start up a fire."

"I was born a Jotun," he replied. "They are known in Asgard as frost giants. We do not chill easily."

"Whatever." She sniffed and looked up, following his gaze. "Never get used to seeing this many stars at night."

"Do they not have stars where you come from?"

"I'm from Boston. They don't have stars like this, that's for sure," she said. "The city lights blot them out."

"What a shame," he replied. "They seem so distant. On Asgard -- where I was a boy -- the stars look much closer. Or perhaps it was just that it was easier to reach them."

"So this Asgard, is it like a city or what?"

He shot her a sidelong smile. "It is the home of the Allfather. A city, and a realm, and more."

"A realm."

"It's difficult to explain. Your people use myths and legends to do it."

"Say I buy this," she said, sitting forward. "Say I buy that you're, what, an alien?"

"Something like that," he said.

"How'd you get here?"

"That is a long story."

"Condense it."

He cast her a smile. He liked Darcy; she reminded him of Sif.

"In essence, I was sent along a pathway between the realms. That storm the night I arrived -- that was a pathway."

"From another planet?"

"Not as you think of them, no. But...similar. Closer, even, and yet further off." He ran a hand through his hair. "All the realms are linked, you see, but not in a way you can easily prove. Even we don't fully understand it. One of the greatest mysteries left to Asgard -- and there are not many, now -- is how such different realms can lie so close along the branches of Yggdrasil."

"Eggbrazil?"

"Close enough. Many of the realms call it magic, but there is science in it. I have not the words on Midgard to describe it..." he slid from the chair to the ground, sitting crosslegged, and traced shapes in the desert dust at her feet. "As I learned it when I was young -- here is the great Yggdrasil, the world tree," he said, sketching out a structure he knew by heart. "Each branch reaches towards a different realm, but all are part of the great tree of the universe. Here is Asgard, where I was raised."

"You keep saying that," she said, leaning forward.

"What?"

"Where you were raised. Like it wasn't really your home."

Loki looked down at the inside of his left wrist, at the interlocking triangles. "It is not my home. It never truly was. Because as an infant I was taken from..." he traced another realm, "Jotunheim, during a great war, and kept as a hostage on Asgard."

"A hostage?"

"Against a further war," he said shortly. "And here," he added, to distract her, "Is Vanaheim, Alfheim, Hel, Svartalfheim, Niflheim, and Muspelheim. And here is Midgard, your home," he added, drawing in the final shape. "Its symbol is the serpent Jormungand, who encircles the Earth and grasps his own tail in his teeth. Someday, when Ragnarok comes to herald the end of all realms, Jormungand will rise out of the ocean and poison the sky. The sun will darken and the land sink into the sea, and steam will blot out the stars until fire touches the heavens."

He looked up and found she was bent almost double, but she was watching him and not his drawing; her face was very close to his. He froze for a second.

"Way to be, Debbie Downer," Darcy said, leaning back.

"It's only a legend," Loki replied. "Other legends say Jormungand is my son, which is patently not the case. So who can say? Old stories, ravings of madmen. But the star your planet orbits _will_ die some day."

"Yeah, in like a billion years."

"You may not see it, but that doesn't mean it won't come," Loki said.

"So, what, live each day as if Ragnarok comes tomorrow?" Darcy asked.

"Not entirely unwise," Loki said, shrugging. "And who is to say when a man's world ends?"

She cast a sidelong look at him. "When did yours?"

"I was cast out of Asgard. I chose to defy the Allfather."

"Your dad threw you out?"

"Had I considered my actions beforehand I would have expected no less. And I prefer being a poor wanderer on Midgard to remaining a hostage prince in Asgard."

"What about your biodad?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your parents in...Jordanhim."

"Jotunheim. A prince of the Jotuns raised in Asgard?" Loki shook his head. "No, it would never do. I was foolish to imagine."

"But don't they love you?"

"I suppose not. Laufey -- my -- what do you call it? Biodad?"

She nodded.

"Laufey made no move to protect me from my punishment. Doesn't make a bad title, eh? Loki of Midgard, the Unloved of All Realms."

He expected a laugh; instead she just looked sad.

"Rather like a terrible nursery story," he added. "Do you have a mirror, Darcy?"

"Uh...sure," she said, digging in her pocket. She presented him with a flat, round object, flicking it open. It held some pale cake of powder in one side, a little mirror in the other. He hovered his fingers in front of the mirror, concentrating, and then flicked them to one side. The tree burst to life, flame rising from the dust, and Darcy flinched and yelped, her chair almost falling over.

"You looked cold," he said, when she glared at him. The fire crackled merrily.

"You are deeply, unfathomably weird," she replied.

"Thank you," he said, pleased, hoisting himself back into his own chair.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asked.

"Rest. Regain my strength until I can reclaim my helm from the son of Coul. Perhaps raise an army."

"An army!"

"Many men seemed dissatisfied with 'the Feds'," he said. "Unrest is easy to foster. Either way, I will have my helm. Then I will present myself at court. Surely some petty lord will have a use for me." He smiled at her. "But tonight, I think I shall sleep."

"Gonna spoon with Erik?"

"I don't feel the cold. There is the fire," he said, slumping a little in the chair, which had a soft pad on it and a very long seat. "I shall sleep here. And then if someone comes, I will hear, and can defend the honour of yourself and Jane and Erikselvig."

"Well, I guess it's your funeral," Darcy said. She stood, tossing him the blanket, then leaned over and to his surprise kissed him on the forehead. No woman since Frigga had ever done that, and her not since he was a small child. "G'night, Lucky."

"Goodnight, Darcy Looooo'is," he replied.


	3. Funny Story

"So, funny story," Hawkeye said the following morning, when Coulson called him.

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've had two hours sleep and I'm considering shooting caffeine intravenously. Do not prevaricate."

"Loki got the drop on me, threatened my life and my eyesight, and gave me a message to give to you."

"How did he manage that?"

"Hell if I know, sir. How did he escape using holograms? This was definitely not a hologram, by the way."

Coulson sighed. "And the message?"

"He said, and I quote, _When your master calls, to tell you to kill me or capture me, you tell him I will have my helm. If he pleases he may come to me and barter for it._ "

"He mention what he's going to offer us in exchange?"

"No, sir," Hawkeye answered. "But I think I should include some context. Again, I'm quoting: _Know this. My hosts are under my protection. Harm them and neither you nor your master will live to see what I am capable of when angered. There are politics at play you do not understand._ "

"You missed your calling as a Shakespearean actor, Hawkeye."

"It's a very vivid memory in my mind, sir. He had a knife more or less held to my eyeball at the time."

"Where is he now?"

"In town. He seemed cool with knowing I was watching him. What politics do you think he meant?"

"If this were the sixties, I'd blame Russia."

"Terrorists, you think?"

"Terrorists don't talk politics, they talk missions and ideals. What's he up to?"

"At the moment?" Hawkeye snorted. "Having breakfast in the diner and flirting with Foster's hottie assistant."

"Down, boy," Coulson said, amused.

"I've got eyes. Still. Thankfully."

"Do you need medical?"

"No sir, just bruises and a little road rash. Wouldn't mind some relief, though, or a cup of coffee."

"We've got relief on the way to your location. You can bring my car back," Coulson said.

"And then?" Hawkeye asked. They both knew it usually wasn't that simple.

"We'll reassess. If he is potentially offering knowledge about the artifact in return for custody of it...well, knowing is better than having sometimes," Coulson said. Fury was really going to hate that answer if he gave it as a reason he lost the artifact.

"Fury's really going to hate that," Hawkeye said.

"I'm aware, agent. You all right to drive?"

"Sure. What the hell am I going to hit out here, anyway?"

"Hawkeye."

"Yes sir, I'm competent to drive."

"Come back to the the compound and get some rest. I want you in the strategy briefing for where we go from here."

"Why?" Hawkeye asked. Coulson sighed again, softly. Hawkeye never did seem to understand why Coulson wanted him in on these things; he'd sit there for twenty minutes of a thirty minute meeting, silent, sometimes visibly not paying attention, and then twenty-one minutes in he'd quietly say something to resolve a deadlock or turn their plan a hundred and eighty degrees. Hawkeye still thought of himself as a dumb hick from Iowa who was special only because he could shoot. It was one of his few flaws.

"Just be in the briefing room at thirteen hundred," Coulson said.

"Yes, sir."

***

Loki hadn't really, seriously considered raising an army.

Well, not until it still seemed like a decent idea in the cold light of morning.

Jane and Erik were at work recovering what they could of her research from the little notebook Loki had stolen back for her, but Darcy was apparently unnecessary as of yet, and so they went down to the tiny feasting hall to eat breakfast. He watched the people of the village come and go, particularly the weatherbeaten men in hardwearing boots, with hands that looked like they'd known the weight of tools or weapons. He'd spoken blithely, more to get a reaction from Darcy than anything, but these men were not fond of intruders so close to the village, that much was clear.

Yes, he could raise an army here. Not much of one, but then the guardhouse of Coul's son was hardly a fortress.

"You look like you're plotting something," Darcy said, as Loki sipped his coffee absently.

"Why does it come in such small cups?" he asked, pointing at the coffee. "Surely a brew such as this would best be presented in a flagon. Possibly a tankard."

"There's free refills," Darcy said. Loki watched another man enter the hall, seating himself and ordering _the usual_.

Darcy was capable of holding a conversation more or less by herself, so Loki let her; after breakfast, when she was on her way back with cartons of food for Jane and Erikselvig, he drifted slowly down the single main street of the village. The man who'd been bested by Coul's son, the one called Benny that the others had been teasing in the hall the day before, was standing just inside a shop labeled HARDWARE. Loki ambled inside to stand next to him, studying a rack of primitive tools.

"Don't look at me, and don't speak too loudly," he said, by way of opening. He tried, as far as he was able, to sound like one of them; he couldn't quite lower himself to their grammar, but perhaps some of their diction... "We're being watched."

The man stiffened, but he didn't turn. "Yeah? Who're you?"

"Someone with an interest in what's going on outside of town. You're the man the Fed bested, aren't you? Benny?"

"Aw man, if you're gonna fuck around with -- "

"Indeed not. I came to you as one enemy of the Fed to another."

Benny's posture relaxed slightly. "Oh yeah?"

"Surely you of all people know that he has something which doesn't belong to him."

"I _knew_ it! How'd you know?"

"I know many things," Loki said, and caught Benny's arm sharply as he moved to turn. "Eyes forward, friend."

"So is it a satellite? It's not, right?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"Oh, I don't know if I should tell you that," Loki said, smiling. "But allow me to ask you a question -- when was the last time you saw con trails in the sky?"

It was the right thing to say. Darcy had pointed it out earlier in the morning -- there hadn't been any "planes", whatever those were, leaving "con trails" in the sky, since the men in black arrived. She'd mentioned it as something strange, and Loki had made a note to work it to his advantage. Benny had a half-shocked expression on his face.

"Is it some kinda weapon?"

"In a sense."

Benny didn't turn, but he did lean in close. Loki sighed. "Are you ex-government?"

Loki bit his lip. "I certainly am."

"It's just like the X-Files," the man said, awed. 

Loki wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he ignored it. "I have a plan to recover the object."

"So you can go public with it, right?"

"Something like that."

"You know it can't be moved?"

"It can if you know its secrets."

"I knew those government motherfuckers were up to something shady." Benny shook his head. "Why you tellin' me all this?" he added, suddenly suspicious.

"I want your help, and the help of your friends. With enough men, we could overpower their headquarters, take them by surprise."

"I dunno. That's assault on a federal installation. We ain't no militia."

"Do you think they'd let their shame be known, if we succeed?"

"And you're sure we can?"

"Certain of it," Loki said.

"What do you want from us?"

"For now, nothing. I have other things to attend to. Tell your friends, and tell them to tell their friends -- _discreetly_. Only men who can be trusted. I'll be in touch again when I know more."

"Just tell me one thing, okay," Benny said. "Is it a UFO?"

"I can't say," Loki replied. "But all will be revealed in time. Can I trust you, friend?"

"Yes, I s'pose so. I'll pitch it to the boys, anyhow."

"Very good. Meet me here tomorrow, and I'll have more news."

"Sure thing. What do I call you, hey?"

"Just call me Lucky," Loki said. Benny nodded and strolled off, with the kind of casual walk that screamed _I have a secret!_

Well, it was a start.

He was conscious of the fact that he was providing little to his hosts in the way of payment for his lodging. The notebook would keep them satisfied for a while, as would the little music box, but it was best to keep out from underfoot as much as possible, and to learn as much as he could about Midgard in the meantime.

To his delight, the village had a library, packed with cheap-looking books and nearly empty in the daytime. He browsed among the books for a little while, feeling more at home than he had since the day of Thor's would-be coronation, and watched two youngsters working diligently at archival consoles.

He wasn't unfamiliar with those. Asgard kept its most sacred, secret knowledge locked tightly in such things, volumes too dangerous to be placed on shelves as books. These were clunky and inelegant compared to the archival consoles of Asgard, but it was clear that therein lay the knowledge he needed. He watched and waited until one of the young women had left the seat in front of it, then slid quietly into his place. There was a search box on the screen; he looked down at the keyboard in brief apprehension, then picked out a question.

_Who is king of Midgard?_

**Just curious who is the king of Midgard? My cousin and I had a ...**  
 _answers.yahoo.com  
Top answer: Midgard refers to the entire Earth. It's our world, and so there have been many kings...._

It didn't take a terribly long time for him to discern that unlike in Asgard, apparently any idiot could enter information into the Midgardian archives. Sifting the wheat from the chaff took longer, but eventually he had the information he wanted.

New York (he supposed compared to Asgard most places in Midgard _were_ new) was apparently where he should go, once he recovered his helm. According to the great bard Frank Sinatra, if you could make it there, you could make it anywhere.

And as for where he should go once he arrived...well, he'd found a familiar name, from his conversation with Coul's son.

**TONY STARK: THE NEW KING OF NEW YORK?**

_With Stark Tower well underway and an experimental new power source only months from completion, is Tony Stark poised for a transcontinental move?_

_Sources close to Stark Industries say that while the company may not have plans to leave California, Stark himself has been quietly packing up his Malibu mansion, preparing to move into the penthouse of New York's Stark Tower upon its completion. Plans for the penthouse, leaked to the public, show a two-level luxury apartment fit for royalty, with a private workshop space and office, as well as a helicopter landing pad and a second, private landing pad, presumably for parking Iron Man._

_Does Tony Stark, known trendsetter and fashion icon, mean to become the newest billionaire to dominate New York society? And if so, what does this mean for Virginia "Pepper" Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and rumored power behind the throne?_

There was an image of Stark in bright red armor, helmet under one arm. There was also an image of his queen, Virginia of the Pots, a beautiful red-headed woman with a regal bearing. He even had a tower.

Now that, in Loki's view, was a proper king.

***

When Clint got back to SOHQ 112 -- SHIELD Operational Headquarters #112, though a lot of the men were calling it "Stuck 112" because of the artifact -- he ate about three breakfasts' worth of food and then went to bed. He'd learned early that you got your meals and sleep when you could, on an op.

He managed to wake up and make himself presentable in time for the 1300 meeting in the claustrophobic little briefing room, and was surprised when it turned out to be just him, Coulson, and Sitwell. He sat back in the chair and propped his boots on the table, relaxing. Coulson and Sitwell didn't stand overmuch on manners when the grunts weren't looking.

"So," he said, as Coulson switched on the video screen on one wall. "Are you debriefing me, or am I debriefing you? I just want to know if I should have paid for dinner first."

"You're all class, Hawkeye," said a voice, and Clint slammed his boots to the ground, sitting up straight. Nick Fury, _Director_ Fury, was glaring at him over the video uplink. "Let's preface what I'm sure is about to be a fascinating meeting with the announcement that this never happened. Agent Coulson has requested an off-book consult. There is no clearance level on what we say here; you do not tell anyone outside of the room you're sitting in."

"Understood, sir," Clint replied, as Coulson and Sitwell murmured agreement.

"Coulson, you want to take the floor?"

"Thank you, Director," Coulson replied. "You've had our incident report from last night. We're still uncertain how the visual illusions were accomplished, but research brought in some data this morning which shows increased electromagnetic activity not only around the artifact but within the entire compound..." he pressed a button on the remote, and Fury's face slid to one side. The other half of the screen filled with a map of the compound, red lines zigging and zagging through it. Clint leaned closer.

"These red lines are, for lack of a better word, trails left behind by the illusions," Coulson said. "That cloud you see in the center is the artifact. From patchy security footage we're pretty sure -- " click " -- that the blue line you're seeing now is the route our hostile took out of the compound."

"What would account for this?" Fury asked.

"Nothing we're aware of, sir," Coulson said. "The reason for taking this meeting outside the lines is that I'd like to make a somewhat radical proposition."

"Which is?"

"He's obviously not from around here. I don't believe -- anymore -- that he's an agent of a foreign government or any business interest," Coulson said, and a picture of their hostile replaced the map. "What he was capable of, his connection to the artifact, and the name he gave...well, I've done some reading, sir. I believe he's not from this planet."

"An alien?" Fury asked incredulously.

"No sir. A god."

Clint watched as Fury rubbed his face, then the top of his head. "If it were any other agent saying this to me..."

"I'm aware I'm asking you to take a leap of faith, but we have larger concerns than classifying the hostile. According to Dr. Foster's data, the night of the crashdown there was an unusual atmospheric disturbance. Her readings on this disturbance show a very clear buildup in the day preceding it. We're reading the same buildup now. In my conversation with the hostile he indicated there was a political situation of some sort of which we were unaware. He said the same thing to Agent Barton."

"We think there's another one coming," Sitwell added.

"Two gods," Fury said, disbelieving.

"Earth makes a pretty fine battleground," Clint put in. All three of them looked at him. "I read a lot of science fiction."

"I don't believe SHIELD has contingency plans in place for a battle of the gods in rural New Mexico."

"We're working on some now," Coulson replied. Clint shot him an incredulous look. "I need diplomatic authorization, Director."

"To do what?" Fury asked.

"Loki's not unreasonable. Morally questionable, self-interested, but willing to deal. He has a vested interest in self-preservation and frankly I think he'd think picking a fight with us around would be...rude," Coulson said. "We may be able to mediate some kind of nonaggression pact. Or at least mitigate whatever's coming."

"And if you can't?"

"Well, sir, some backup would be nice. Possibly we should call in the Consultant."

"Last thing we need are two gods being chased around by someone who just _thinks_ he's one," Fury replied. "Barton, what's your take on this?"

"I can't explain how he got out," Clint said. "Or how he snuck up on me, or where he got the weapon he had when he did. Guy talks like he's been reading too much Chaucer. Coulson's theory is actually the least crazy I'm coming up with, because the rest sound like bad action flick ripoffs. Yeah, I back Coulson."

"Color me surprised," the Director said. "All right. Agent Coulson, you are authorized to represent the interests of the United States in any intergalactic peace negotiations being held on American soil. Start setting up paperwork. I want to see copies of those contingency plans on my private server in the next four hours. Barton, you're dismissed."

"Sir," Clint said, standing. As he left, he heard Fury say, _Now that's out of the way, we need to talk about continuing the search in the arctic._

***

When Loki returned to the hut that night, Jane and Darcy were both on the roof, aiming small dish-shaped objects at the sky. Erikselvig was below, looking at readings from a machine that hadn't been there that morning.

"Say what you like about Jane's equipment, she builds it fast and it always works," Erik said cheerfully, when Loki approached. "Where've you been, eh, Trouble?"

"The library," Loki said, leaning over the machine. "What does it do?"

"Well. We looked over the readings Jane had in her notebook and worked out exactly four things we'd need to monitor in order to track disturbances like the one you got caught out in."

"May I ask," Loki said delicately. "Why are you so interested? What purpose does this study serve?"

"What purpose does any study serve? A greater understanding of the universe. See, look," he said, pointing at the readouts on the machine, and then to a large white sign-board covered in writing. "From this we can pretty much extrapolate that something like what happened a few nights ago is going to happen again. Can't say where, but we can say when, which is all Heisenberg expects of anyone most of the time -- "

"Again?" Loki asked sharply. Behind them, Darcy and Jane were climbing down from the roof.

"Yep. We're borrowing a truck and taking it out tomorrow night," Jane said.

"Come along if you want," Darcy added.

"No, we need that room for the sensors. Unless you want to sit in the flatbed," Jane added. "We could use someone to make sure nothing blows away."

Loki looked back and forth between them. On the one hand, going _towards_ the kind of disturbance that had sent him here was unwise. On the other, he who struck first would probably strike hardest.

"Tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Pretty likely," Jane said, already distracted, going to the big board to add notations. "Might even be bigger than the last one."

"Party time. I'll bring snacks," Darcy said. "You in, Lucky?"

"Ah," Loki said. "Yes, certainly. Any hand I can lend."

"Cool. Jane, Lucky and I are going to go over there to avoid further science."

"Mmhm," Jane answered absently. Erik gave Loki a warning look, but didn't say anything as Darcy dragged him outside, into the slight chill of the desert night.

"I didn't tell Jane or Erik what you did," she said, leaning against the wall of the hut. "With the fire and everything, I mean."

"My thanks, but I doubt they'd have believed you," Loki replied. "Don't pretend it was all in defense of me, Lady Darcy."

"Okay, maybe not," she said, grinning. "But I hope you appreciate the thought. So if there's another storm coming, does that mean you've got like, a pal on the way?"

"Not a pal, I think," Loki answered.

"You're not really coming with us tomorrow, are you?"

"That depends on many things. But were I you..." Loki looked up at the stars. "I should be far away from this place by nightfall tomorrow."

"Boring," Darcy replied. Loki lowered his face and smiled at her.

"Your decision, I suppose. I shan't waste energy trying to save those who don't wish to be saved. Soon enough I shall be gone, anyway."

"Gone?" Darcy asked.

"Depending on tomorrow night. I have great hopes. After that I shall depart."

"Where will you go?"

"Here and there," he said. Darcy took one of his hands in startlingly warm fingers.

"We could have some fun before you ship out," she said, the posture of her body a clear invitation. He'd seen women look at Thor like that, on Asgard, but never him. He wasn't inexperienced by any stretch, however the Warriors Three teased him, but he was used to being the pursuer, not the pursued. And who knew what strange sexual habits Midgardians had?

He kissed her anyway, because new experiences were always good things to have, but then leaned back and shook his head.

"Better not," he said.

"Shame," she answered, tucking her fingers in the hem of his (at this point, somewhat abused) shirt. "I've always wanted to have awkward sex on a lawn chair with a mysterious stranger."

"I wish you luck in that quest," he said, and she laughed, letting go of his shirt.

"Thanks. Night, Lucky. See you in the morning?" she asked, pushing off the wall and heading towards the large van.

"Undoubtedly," he replied. She ducked inside and he watched the door close, the light fading as it shut.

He considered the ladder running up the side of the hut, then grabbed hold of the rails and began to climb. He could sleep on the roof as well as anywhere, and it would let him watch the distant stars.

If someone was coming, it wasn't likely to be Thor himself. With the Allfather in Odinsleep, Thor should remain on the throne in Asgard. _Should_ , of course, not being something Thor had ever listened to closely, but still. Surely it wouldn't be him. Probably Sif, to drag him back by the hair, or perhaps one of the Warriors Three.

He wouldn't mind so much if it were Frigga. He could remember, as a child, burying himself in the warm comfort of her skirts, the way she would tell them stories gentler than their father's, where the magician was always the hero, not the warrior.

But Frigga had known, must have known -- must have lied to him that he was a beloved son. For years, she had known, and even if he could countenance a lie to a child, he was well past the age of discretion. And she had not acted to stop Odin either.

No. Sif and the others were Thor's allies, and his mother was not his mother, and none of the rest of the court could be trusted. No matter who came for him, they were an enemy. And they were forcing him to be an enemy of Asgard.

Well, he would simply have to move swiftly. Assault the guardhouse that held his helm tomorrow, before whoever it was arrived from Asgard. Strike his enemy hard, kill them perhaps, and abandon whatever would remain of this little town for New York. With his helm he could get into the good graces of any lord or king, and between his own magic and their protection, he could rebuff other attacks if he must.

He lay on his back, looking up at the stars.

"Heimdall, I know you can see me," he said softly. "Tell whoever is coming to turn back. If you will not, be prepared to draw a corpse home across the bridge, and not mine. This is your warning."

Silence from the stars. Perhaps he should have taken Darcy up on her offer.

***

Coulson knew, better than most SHIELD agents, that scientists were like kittens. Curious, clever, into everything, and never to be left to their own devices for too long. Some were more dangerous than others -- Tony Stark was a lion cub with unlimited access to fragile china -- but all of them needed supervision.

The scientists weren't allowed out of Stuck 112, because given a drink or two and a friendly ear, some of them would pour out not only their life story but the details of whatever they were working on as well. Most of the security force wasn't let out either, because they'd stomp into the one bar in this friendly little town, wearing their SHIELD boots and their uniforms, get drunk, and start fights. An unfair view of the country's finest, perhaps, but Coulson had spent a long time around the country's finest, and all it took was one fine indiscretion to spoil an entire operation.

There were exceptions, of course. Which was why, when Hawkeye asked to go into town and get some food that didn't come stamped MRE, Coulson agreed a hot meal and a beer wouldn't go amiss.

"So you get everything filed?" Hawkeye asked, in between bites of meatloaf in the "fancy" restaurant in town (the one that wasn't the diner).

"More or less," Coulson answered. "If we ever do require an ambassador to another planet, apparently I'll be getting a call."

"Well, I guess you're pretty diplomatic," Hawkeye said with a grin. "You get to talk to Hill after Fury was done?"

"Just for a moment."

"She get those tickets you wanted?"

Coulson nodded. "Apparently I owe her forever for making her act like a concierge."

"Man, she shouldn't have said she's dating a dude who works at the orchestra."

"Fourth-row seat to see Yo-Yo Ma, I'm happy to owe her."

"Seat?" Hawkeye asked, raising an eyebrow.

"When I meet someone capable of attending a classical performance without snoring, you'll be the first person I alert," Coulson said.

"I can sleep with my eyes open, you know."

"Or I can save the two hundred dollars and -- "

"Two hundred dollars?" Hawkeye asked, choking on his beer. "Does cello music cause spontaneous orgasm?"

"Only if you do it right," Coulson deadpanned. Hawkeye wiped his mouth, still looking shocked. "Why, what do you do to come down after a mission?"

Hawkeye gave him a sharp grin.

"You are, as ever, the epitome of class," Coulson said.

"Hey, at least I get it for free. What's your point?"

"I've spent more time than I care to think about recently babysitting Tony Stark, and here I am in a little town with very poor phone reception and slow internet when you can get it at all, in a high-pressure situation where I recently interrogated what one might refer to as a god. And all I ask in return is that one night, sometime in the near future, I have a few hours of music to look forward to. The anticipation alone is worth the money."

"Huh. And here I thought you loved your job."

"I do. I just don't love New Mexico." 

"Snob," Hawkeye said, around a mouthful of food.

"Probably. Finish up, we should get back."

As they left, Coulson glanced up the street, to where Dr. Foster's lab was. He didn't have Hawkeye's eyesight, but he could see a single figure on the roof, outlined against the stars.

***

In the morning, Darcy chivvied Jane and Erikselvig into coming with them to breakfast. Jane was full of talk of what needed to be done that day, so Loki was mostly silent as the other three plotted how to find the disturbance when it manifested. It occurred to Loki that time must play differently on Midgard than on Asgard; the Bifrost took only a few seconds to open, but on Midgard the signs of it opening were clear a day in advance. Or perhaps everything was predestined. There were certain mystics Loki had studied with briefly who believed firmly that every action was preordained, but he'd never been able to countenance the idea. What was the point of anything, if everything was laid out like a book?

He slipped away while the others were paying for their food and getting one last fill-up of coffee to go, heading down to the hardware store where his new friend was waiting for him.

"The boys are for it," Benny said, when Loki joined him in front of a rack of what looked like large, coiled green whips. "But they're worried 'bout the guards and guns."

"Shan't be a problem," Loki replied. "Can you gather them to meet? Early this evening, if possible. We must act tonight."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Reinforcements arrive at their base late this evening. We won't have another opportunity."

"How do you know so much?"

Loki grinned. "I have eyes everywhere. Can the men assemble in so short a time?"

"Oh sure. Everyone gets off work round five, we can meet at six. Where at?"

"Wherever is most secret."

"Hmm. That'll be the school, probably; Mitch is the vice-principal, he can let us in. You know where that is?"

"I'll find it. Thank you, my friend. You won't go unrewarded."

He spent most of the rest of the day in the little latrine in the large van, with a face-mirror he'd found in Jane's belongings and the mirror over the sink. They didn't disturb him, far too busy with preparations for that evening. In a way, so was he.

In Asgard he could have made ten, even twelve of himself before it was too much of a strain. With such limited power at his disposal, the best he could do was one sustained illusion. It was always difficult, being split between himself and his illusions. All he really needed was one, but it had to be a strong one.

He sat between the mirrors for hours, doing not much more than breathing, ignoring the fear that gnawed his spine. _Someone_ was coming for him.

He did at least do his hosts this favour: when he stepped out of the van it was him, and when he went to say goodbye to them, that was him too. Of course, the other one of him snuck out while he was distracting his hosts, but that was just necessity.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to go with you tonight," he said to Jane, as his double ducked out onto the road and hurried towards the obvious gathering of men at the far end of town. "I'm needed elsewhere."

"Guess I'm riding bitch in the back," Darcy said.

"Where are you going?" Erik asked.

"It's best if I don't say. I'm very grateful -- for the clothes, for the food and shelter. I'll make sure you're repaid," Loki added. "You'll hear from me again." _I hope._

"Well, thanks for the notebook," Jane said. "You don't owe us anything after that."

"The least I could do," Loki replied with a humble shrug, and let Darcy drag him out of the hut.

"Hey, whatever you're up to, try not to get into trouble, okay?" she said, when they were outside, her hand still twined in his.

"No trouble at all," he assured her, and let her see he was lying, just the once. "Be safe in the storm tonight."

"No worries," Darcy replied with a grin. "So. G'bye, huh?"

"I'm afraid so," he answered, kissing her hand.

"If you ever make it out to the east coast, look me up. I'm in Cambridge for another two years," she said.

"I certainly shall," he replied, and let go of her hand. "Thank you, Darcy Looooo'is."

His double was heading towards the school where the men were waiting, but Loki had other business. He walked until he was out of view of the town, and then broke into an easy run. Rested and fed, and with the last of the power from the mirrors, he could run like this for hours -- at least long enough to get out into the desert where his helm still lay. True, he couldn't take the road the whole way, but once he'd turned off into the empty plain, heading for the rocky outcrops behind the guardhouse, it left his mind even more free to control the other.

His double was telling the men what they wanted to hear: not in so many words, but that the Son of Coul had emasculated them, was an intruder on their land, and should be driven out. Glory could be theirs if they could claim the helm. Under cover of night, the trucks could get close on the road, and then pull off to drive behind it on the far side, using it as cover. When he gave the signal, while the guards were changing shift (who knew if the guards even changed shifts? But it was a good lie) they could charge the stronghold and meet little resistance. He would show them how to go.

Loki settled himself in a crevice in the rock, to the north of the guardhouse, and waited for his other to lead a failure of an attack from the south.

***

Once, back when Clint was just starting out with SHIELD, he came off a mission whining, the way you sometimes do. He hadn't meant anything by it; it was just a way to take the stress off.

"Fifteen hours in the rain and I didn't even get to take a shot," he'd complained, slinging his bow and quiver into the car, climbing in behind it.

"They also serve who only stand and wait," Coulson had replied, without turning around.

Clint had googled it when he got back to base. Turned out to be some old poetry, but he thought it was all right. _And that one Talent which is death to hide_ was pretty good stuff. Some of the chuckleheads he worked with laughed at him for reading Milton, but once you got the hang of the language it was entertaining. And the line about waiting had got him through some twitchy moments in the nest before.

He was in a nest now, not the crane platform he favored but a corner of the base itself, a floor up, gazing down on the artifact. Coulson had told him to go up but stay close, get hidden and sit tight, no matter what else happened, until he gave the order to move or fire.

The wind had picked up that afternoon, and by early evening everyone could feel something about to happen. The monitors were going crazy. Cellphones suddenly had reception they hadn't before, but calls got crossed if you tried to make one. Coulson had everyone on a single public channel on the radios, so Clint could hear him giving orders, hear people talking back and forth. He didn't close his eyes, but he narrowed his focus down and tuned it out, background-scanning for the single voice.

_O Prince, O chief of many throned powers,_  
 _That led th'imbattled Seraphim to war_  
 _Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds_  
 _Fearless, endanger'd Heav'ns perpetual King..._

Night had well and truly fallen, and there was trouble on the ground; security at the guard posts said there was a dust cloud rising on the far side of the raised ridge where the road passed them. Behind them, in the background, scientists were shouting out orders to each other, calling numbers and words he couldn't identify.

_Then with expanded wings he steers his flight_  
 _Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air_  
 _That felt unusual weight, till on dry land_  
 _He lights, if it were Land that ever burn'd_  
 _With solid, as the Lake with liquid fire..._

There were men up on the ridge now, the men from town; the guards were calling out counts of heads and rifles. The hostile had been spotted with them, and Coulson was ordering all hands to the southern edge of the compound. Warning shots only, and only if the men left the ridge. If that didn't scatter them, nonlethal fire only: bean bag guns, and tasers for close range. No casualties.

Some of the men on the radios were old enough to mutter "Ruby Ridge" and "Waco."

"That's not going to happen here," Coulson said sharply. "We're not the FBI."

"Don't fuck this up," one of the security heads barked.

"All hands ready at the south," Sitwell reported.

"Stay on location, Sitwell, I'm going off radio," Coulson replied.

"Yes sir."

There was a crackle as a private channel opened on his headset. "Hawkeye."

"Sir," Clint said, calm and even.

_A mind not to be chang'd by place or time._  
 _The mind is its own place, and in itself_  
 _Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n..._

"I'm on the ground under your location. Stay put until my mark. If you have to shoot through me, you shoot through me, you understand?"

"If I have to shoot through you, sir, I should be fired for incompetence."

"That's the spirit," Coulson said, and Clint saw him, suit jacket whipping in the wind that funneled down the center of the compound like a tornado. Rain was starting to fall, and the sky above, what Clint could see in the corner of his eye, was swirling grey and black.

_We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built_  
 _Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:_  
 _Here we may reign secure, and in my choice_  
 _To reign is worth ambition though in Hell..._

And then he understood the game Coulson was playing, because the entire security force was clustered at the southern edge -- and Loki was coming through the dark and rain from the northern edge of the compound.

"I have eyes on the hostile," he said.

"Hold, Hawkeye."

"Sir."

Loki ducked into a tunnel.

"Lost eyes," Clint called.

"You'll get them back soon enough."

Clint counted heartbeats, ignored the water running into his eyes, and watched as Loki stepped out into the little quadrangle, staring at the artifact as if it were a prize.

_Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n._


	4. On The Walls

The plan went perfectly, at first. The men from town drew the attention of the guardhouse quickly, and Loki watched as sentries abandoned their posts, as even men obviously off-duty picked up weapons and ran the other way. It was simple to bend the fragile wire fence enough to enter, and there was no-one to stop him as he trotted through the rain towards the center, towards the helm. One of his doubles had come this way when he'd escaped, and he retraced his steps straight through, to where the helm still lay uncovered to the sky.

And there it was, glowing in the darkness, practically singing as the rain pelted it. One last piece of Asgard, with enough power to sustain him here in this unmagical realm --

"Hello, Loki."

Loki looked up. The son of Coul was standing behind the helm, gun upraised. This close to the helm he could probably deflect harm, but it was a gamble. And he had not come this far to be thwarted by any Midgardian man.

"Son of Coul," he said. "I expected you to be on the walls with your men."

"Defending the garrison?" Coul's son asked. "You threw a bunch of innocent locals at a small army of highly trained SHIELD operatives. Little unfair, don't you think?"

"I think so, sir," said a voice above. He didn't have to look to know it was the archer. "I think it's unfair enough to warrant a bolt in the head."

"Easy, Hawkeye," Coul's son said. "Not just yet."

"They chose it themselves," Loki said. "Those men. They are greedy for fame."

"You sure do know how to see the worst in a person," Hawkeye replied.

"I find people often show their worst rather easily. But I was not so merciless as all that."

"Oh?" Coul's son asked.

"You are like me, I think. Not that you aren't a killer," Loki said, taking another step forward. Coul's son fired at his feet, and mud spat up at him. "I am sure you have the propensity in you for great violence, should the need arise. But you prefer to avoid brute force, do you not? Brains over brawn. Those _highly trained_ soldiers of yours. They will not fire to kill, will they? Not without your word. Neither will your archer. That one is loyal to a fault."

"Thank you," the archer said. "Sir?"

"Not yet."

"Mind you," Loki continued, and Coul's son fired again before he could take another step, "I did not expect you to sort out what I planned quite so quickly."

"Well," he replied, "I'm like you."

"Indeed. Which is why I think you will let me take this."

"I can't allow that kind of power in your kind of hands."

"What, these?" Loki asked, holding his hands up. The sleeves of his coat rode down, showing the tattoos. The gesture distracted the son of Coul just enough for Loki to send tendrils into his mind, to measure out at least some of his passions, the desires that lurked closest to the surface. "What do you suppose I intend to do? Rule Midgard? I could, I suppose, but you seem a rather contentious race. More trouble than you're worth."

"Why do you want the artifact?"

"Because it belongs to me. Because without it these hands are all I have. Because it is the last evidence I have that once I was respected. Once I was a prince, Coul's son, did you know that?"

"We figured that out, yes."

"I can offer you a trade for it."

"You don't have anything we want," Hawkeye said.

"With that, I could."

"And we couldn't contain you," Coul's son added.

"No. But I do have something you value quite highly, Coul's son. I have knowledge. And I know what it is you search for."

"What's that?"

"Your avatar," Loki said, and he could hear what Coul's son was thinking. "The great warrior who sleeps -- they tell stories about that, I think? The mythical king who will awaken when his people need him? I have an affinity for ice, you see," he continued. He could see the son of Coul considering it. "I can show you where your avatar lies. All I require is the helm."

"You know, I'd take you up on that," Coul's son said, "but I've heard you're a liar."

"Oh, indeed. But not about this."

"You're lying right now."

"Think about it," Loki said. "You could be the one to find him. You could pull him from his sleep and his glory would reflect in you. He would bring you prestige and power. Isn't that what you want, in your heart? To find the Captain?"

Overhead, lightning flashed. He couldn't suppress a startle.

"'Fraid of a little thunder?" Hawkeye asked.

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," Loki replied. He pointed at the helm. "Give it to me."

"No."

"Give it to me and anything you ask is yours. The Captain. Power. Glory. Command." He lowered his voice. "The archer. If you liked." 

"No," Coul's son repeated. The rain fell heavier, and more lightning split the sky. 

"Give it to me or we all may die," Loki tried.

"Sir, the disturbance -- "

"I'm aware, Hawkeye," Coul's son said. Loki risked a look up; before he could look down again, a hand had grabbed his throat. The Son of Coul could move fast, when he wished. The gun hovered in front of his face.

"Tell me what's coming," Coul's son said.

"I could not say," Loki replied. "Perhaps my brother. Perhaps an emissary. Either way they will tear this realm apart to find me."

"Why?"

Loki gave him a thin smile. "Politics."

There hadn't been any noise before, just lightning and swirling clouds. Now, however, a roar broke over the rain, a bellow of thunder that seemed to go on and on, as a dark hole opened in the sky and wind whipped the mud all around them.

Even the Son of Coul looked up, and Loki took his chance.

He jerked out of his grasp and ducked as fast as he could, but the gun didn't fire. The Son of Coul grabbed for his shirt as he darted forward, but his reach wasn't quite long enough, and with a triumphant yelp Loki plucked the helm off the little pedestal of earth. An arrow buried itself in his shoulder but he hardly felt it through the thrill in his veins. He pulled the helm down over his wet hair hurriedly, and was pulling the arrow out when the ground shook. Mud flew everywhere, and a massive, metallic object fell from the sky, landing with a spatter of mud and unfolding with a terrible series of shrill creaks.

The Son of Coul was off to Loki's right, the archer above him; in front of all of them stood the Destroyer. The weapon -- Loki knew from hearsay, though not from his father -- that had helped to win the last war against Jotunheim. A slayer of his people. A monster.

He could feel power crackling around him even as he lifted his face to the sky.

" _YOU COULD NOT EVEN COME YOURSELF, MY BROTHER?_ " he called. " _BUT YOU MUST SEND A MACHINE TO DESTROY ME?_ "

"You're on government property," Coul's son said, and Loki turned his head sharply. He was talking to the Destroyer. He looked...annoyed. "Please identify yourself."

Loki could see the flame building deep in its chest, and he acted without thinking. A little spinning green disc flew out of his hand, Jane's mirror that he'd stolen from her dresser, and just as the Destroyer fired the mirror cut through it, reflecting the flame and knocking the monster back into the scaffolding. It crashed through it, tangling in the thin, flexible white walls, and the entire structure gave a groan.

" _Clint -- down, now!_ " the Son of Coul shouted. He grabbed Loki's arm and began to drag him away, through the twisted remains of the collapsing building, as Hawkeye leapt from the scaffolding and scrambled after them. They ducked through an opening, heading for the cars beyond, between the guardhouse and the fence. A bolt of flame nearly took Hawkeye out as he vaulted debris and skidded to a stop behind a car. Coul's son dragged Loki behind another one, pulling them both down against the door.

"Orders, sir?" Hawkeye barked. "Because I say if it wants the hostile that's a quick way to end this."

"He is not here for me," Loki called back. "He is here to stop you from defending me."

"What did you just do?" Coul's son hissed at him.

"Mirrors reflect light," Loki said with a shrug.

"That wasn't light -- "

"I may have enchanted it. Told you the helm would help," Loki said smugly.

There was a crash behind them, and the Destroyer turned, momentarily distracted; an arrow whistled through the air and landed in its side, exploding. The Destroyer staggered, but didn't fall.

"Oh, fun," Loki said. "If you run, it will only -- "

Then he realised what the crash had been: a truck, bursting through the barrier at the south gate. It skewed around, halted next to them, and blew its horn.

"GET IN!" Erikselvig yelled from the window.

" _Are you mad?_ " Loki yelled back. "Leave! It's not safe!"

"Lucky, come on!" Darcy shouted. Another arrow knocked the Destroyer back a step.

"Archer!" Loki called. "Give me your weapon!"

" _Now who's crazy!_ " Hawkeye yelled from behind the other car.

"Do it, Clint!" Coul's son shouted.

The quiver and bows came flying over the car and Hawkeye followed a second later, just in time to escape the Destroyer's flames. Loki caught the weapons as the car flew sideways. He took a chance and ran for it, leaping into the back next to Darcy.

"Nice hat!" she said.

"Head down," he ordered, pushing her to the floor as Jane took off at a speed that was enviable if not entirely stable. Loki turned to see Coul's son and the archer running for cover, and the men on the walls opening fire. He wasn't sure where his own little army had gone, but hopefully they'd scattered.

"What the fuck is it?" Darcy demanded, peering at the monster. A gout of flame barely missed the back wheels. The Destroyer was following them, slow but determined, ignoring the soldiers attacking it.

"The Destroyer," Loki said grimly, strapping the quiver against his back. He drew an arrow, studied it -- a round head, no point -- and crouched by the little hatch between the open air and the seats in the front of the truck. 

"A gate lies to the west," he said, and Jane nodded. "I would say to leave me there, but it will chase you, not me."

"So it will," said a new voice, and Jane and Erikselvig stared down. A tiny machine next to the wheel had crackled to life, dials spinning madly. "Come home now, brother, and spare Midgard this chaos. When you leave Midgard, the Destroyer will be called off."

"Who is that?" Erikselvig asked.

"I will not," Loki shouted back. "Come and face me yourself, if you dare, and I shall drive you back too!"

"All I want is for you to be safe at home," Thor insisted. "I sit on the throne of Asgard now, brother. It is simple; Heimdall will bring you home. Come back to us."

"I will not be your hostage!"

"We have no need of hostages. Jotunheim has fallen."

Loki screamed in rage, but behind him Darcy screamed in fear. He turned and straightened without hesitating, legs spread wide for balance, and nocked an arrow on the bow. He whispered to the metal, to the spark inside it, and his hands glowed. Little green lines traced their way up the bow.

He waited until the Destroyer was mid-stride, the best approximation such a heavy machine could do of running, and then let the arrow fly. It traced a green-white trail through the darkness, and struck the monster in its throat.

It made a terrible hissing noise, reaching up to clutch at the arrow.

Then it exploded.

Shrapnel scythed through the air, and Loki pulled Darcy down with him again. He could hear a shard hit the wheel, even before the truck spun out of control, nearly throwing them clear. Jane brought it to a stop and Loki leapt down, spreading his arms to the sky.

"You've slain my kin," he said, the rain falling in his eyes. "You sit on the throne of Asgard and are the conqueror of Jotunheim, Thor. Leave me be."

The clouds swirled. Thunder rolled.

"DAMN YOU!" Loki screamed. "DAMN YOU AND ALL OF ASGARD!"

He pulled another arrow and nocked it, aiming straight up. This one had a point on it, and he put all of his soul into the spell he cast around it. Black tendrils entwined it, slithering up his arms and down his legs as well, and he let the arrow loose.

It flew upward, as true as it could, blackness trailing behind it, the hardest, most unyielding, most demanding magic he could summon driving it forward. It felt like half his soul went with it; he couldn't see it land, but he could feel it strike the bifrost gate. He felt the Rainbow Bridge crack and fail, shattered fragments falling away, but he didn't know if Thor or Heimdall fell with it. He fancied he heard a bellow of anger before he came back to himself in the desert.

The rain and thunder abruptly ceased, and the clouds began to clear. He heard Darcy panting in the truck, and the roll of wheels on gravel as a car approached. The remains of the Destroyer lay nearby, the heart of it crackling as it cooled.

Loki kicked at a large chunk of it near his foot, then bent to pick up a fragment underneath, no bigger than a coin. He walked back to the truck and handed it to Darcy. Nearby, the Son of Coul and Hawkeye the archer were getting out of the car.

"Keep it," he said to Darcy. "The metal is magic."

"Why?" she asked.

"For your service," he said. "You are fine warriors, all of you," he added, as Jane and Erikselvig stumbled out as well. "A great skald will write an epic of this day."

"Is it dead?" Jane asked.

Loki looked to the Destroyer. Coul's son was crouched over the heart of it, using a cooled piece of metal to pry the machinery out.

"Too late," he said. "It was a weapon to be used against Jotunheim. Jotunheim has already fallen."

"Hey!" the archer yelled, running up to them. Loki slung the quiver off his back and offered it, along with the bow. They were snatched out of his hands ungraciously, and Hawkeye began running his hands up and down the bow.

"What'd you do to it?" he asked.

"Nothing I have not undone as well," Loki replied. "A fair weapon, Hawkeye. My thanks for the use of it."

"Yeah, well, next time get your own," the archer replied, as Coul's son approached.

"Son of Coul, captain of the guards," Loki said with a smile. "You may have the Destroyer as my gift to you. It is a weapon of considerable power, and I know how fond Midgardians are of their weapons. Do not speak lest I silence you," he added, holding up a hand as Coul's son opened his mouth. "You have the Destroyer. Your work here is not in vain. You cannot have me as well. Take what's given."

"That's an awful lot of power you've got on your head," Coul's son replied. "We're not in the business of stockpiling weapons. We're in the business of protecting the country. Right now, there are people who think you're what we need to protect it from."

Loki looked up at the sky, clear now, with stars and a sliver of moon.

"And my brother may find a single Jotun easily," he said to himself thoughtfully. "Very well. I am Loki Ofmidgard, and I will make you an oath, son of Coul."

He took his hand -- Coul's son gave him a warning look, but didn't flinch -- and folded it between his own.

"I am no longer Jotun, and I relinquish that form," he said, feeling his hands warm even as the desert chill broke over him for the first time. "It is not in my nature to swear to do no harm, but I will do no harm as would concern your people. Give me my helm and my freedom and I will serve Midgard as I did Asgard, and with more good spirit."

Coul's son gave him a skeptical look.

"You may accept the oath, but you cannot make me come with you," Loki added. "Might as well."

Coul's son nodded. "That's an acceptable compromise. But you shouldn't be so sure we can't beat you -- so don't try anything."

"In that case, my oath is made. My honor's a little tarnished, but I swear on yours," Loki said with a grin. "Now. I must leave, and you must stay, and give Jane back what you took -- "

"Stole!" Jane yelped.

" _Borrowed_ ," Coul's son said. "Yes, of course. Dr. Foster, we'd like to speak to you about that..."

Loki watched Coul's son walk away from him, over to where Jane was vibrating with renewed indignation. Erikselvig joined her. Hawkeye was still busy testing his bow, practically crooning to it, and Darcy was sitting in the back of the truck, studying the little chunk of metal interestedly.

Loki stepped back once, twice, and let himself fade away.

***

It took a few days to break down SOHQ 112. There was a lot to be done: security had to file their action reports, and the scientists had to turn in their final research. The sad remains of the structure itself had to be salvaged and sifted through -- fortunately most of Dr. Foster's tech had come through intact, but Coulson had to give up a team for half a day to help her get it set up again. The wrecked cars and scaffolding had to be hauled away for study, the Destroyer secured and the area scoured for remains. Coulson pretended not to know that the Lewis kid had a little chunk. She'd signed an official secrets act. As far as they could tell, the metal was good old-fashioned steel, anyway. It was the machinery inside it that interested SHIELD.

They had internet a few hours after the attack, but they didn't have encryption, so all he could tell Fury was "It's handled" and send Sitwell back to the Helicarrier, currently docked in New York, with a flashdrive containing his final report.

Finally, though, the site was clear. The last agents had joined a caravan heading to the airport; dust was already blowing into the crash site, and Hawkeye was waiting for him, sitting on the hood of the last remaining car. A large crate in the back held the mechanical portions of the Destroyer. They were driving it to New York, probably a three-day trip but safer than putting it in the air. And it was three more days between now and the time when he would, he was sure, be royally chewed out by Fury for failing to secure Loki or the artifact.

"What are you going to tell the Director?" Hawkeye asked, as Coulson got into the car. Hawkeye slid in through the open window, the showoff.

"About Loki?" Coulson asked.

"No, about the doughnuts in the diner."

"I'm going to tell him, first, that I exercised my diplomatic authority to strike a nonagression pact with a foreign national seeking refuge. And second, I'm going to give him this," Coulson said, passing over a small black box. "Just because we couldn't move the artifact doesn't mean we couldn't do anything to it."

"He's going to notice a microchip."

"Not a nanochip, he isn't. At least, for a while," Coulson said, starting the car. "Guess where he is now?"

Hawkeye fiddled with the box, but there was a keypad lock on it. "I can hack this."

"Go for it."

"Come on."

Coulson shot him a smile. "Where do people go when they want to see the bright lights?"

"Shit!"

"He's arriving soon. It should be relatively easy to keep track of him in New York, even if he does find the chip."

"What's he want with New York?"

Coulson shrugged. "We'll find out."

Hawkeye fell silent, looking out the window. Coulson took his phone out of his pocket, eyes never leaving the road, and plugged it into the cord extending from the stereo.

"Your call," he said to Hawkeye, who picked up the phone, punched in the passkey, and scrolled through the playlists. The gigs of swing and classical, and some of the pop, was Coulson's; he kept a stock of blues and hideous punk in a couple of playlists for Hawkeye, but never listened to it unless Hawkeye decided they should.

After a few minutes, Hawkeye gently set the phone back in the console without setting anything to play.

"We won't get any NPR for a while," Coulson pointed out. "You're going to have to wait for your talk shows."

"So," Hawkeye said, ignoring him, "do we discuss the fact that a couple'a days ago a god offered me to you body and soul, or are we going to ignore that one?"

Coulson adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

"I got good ears, boss."

"He offered me a lot of things. We weren't completely wrong," Coulson said, eyes on the road. "He is something of a con man. I put that in report. I don't think he could deliver most of those things to me even if I wanted them. But if I'd let him hook me, it wouldn't be his fault."

"How do you figure?"

He'd been thinking about it for four days already, long enough to sort it out in his head, but apparently Hawkeye hadn't spared a thought for it until now. Or -- no, it was more likely he'd been waiting for a point where they couldn't get away from each other.

"Because the best way to rob someone is to play on their greed. He offered me power. If I stood there and said sure, bring it on, and gave him the helm, and he shorted me, who's worse -- him or me?"

"But you didn't say yes."

"Because I knew where that would lead."

"He might be a con but he did tempt you with things you wanted. Things he couldn't have known from context."

Coulson felt his jaw tighten, the muscle twitch. "Such as?"

"If you think I haven't figured out that SHIELD is back in the arctic looking for the downed bomber, your opinion of me could use some work," Hawkeye said. "Add to that I've seen the Captain America action figure you keep in your desk..."

"Have you told anyone?"

"About the action figure?"

"Barton."

"You know I wouldn't say anything. If Fury wants to keep me out of it, I can play dumb with the best of them. I wouldn't even be telling you I know if I didn't think it was kind of important. Look, I'm not asking if everything he offered you was something you want or if he was taking random stabs in the dark. I'm just asking if I can ask."

Coulson made a quiet, thoughtful sound.

"No," he said.

"I can't ask?"

"You can't ask. But I'll tell you this, just in case you were in any doubt: I wouldn't accept any person under duress from a god. Particularly not you."

"Oh," Hawkeye said. "Okay."

He was quiet for a minute, considering this, and then turned back to Coulson, narrowing his eyes. "You are a sneaky son of a bitch."

"I knew that wouldn't take you long," Coulson said, amused.

"Can we discuss _this?_ In detail? With diagrams?"

"You're about to be assigned to a long-term security operation," Coulson replied. "I can't give you the details yet, but you'll be at a stationary facility outside of New York. I won't be there. Well, not much, if at all. And if all goes well, I may be in transit soon."

"You have a phone. I've seen you use it."

"I don't think AT&T gives good coverage in the arctic. Besides, I'm not initiating anything with you by telephone," Coulson said, hoping he didn't sound as flustered as he felt. "You'll be supervising the operation in New York. Level seven clearance and a raise in pay."

Hawkeye stared at him. "You're an L7."

"Yes, I am."

"So we'll be equals. Please tell me you haven't been waiting on me to shift my lazy ass up the chain of command."

"No, but it does afford a certain level of legitimacy. Look, wheels are spinning. Things are in motion."

"Things you can't talk about."

"Not even to you."

"What's the upshot?" Hawkeye asked.

"The upshot is that this is how life functions in this job, and you know that. Things we can't tell people. Times we have to wait. Take the new mission, do it well, and when everything's calmed down in three or four months, with any luck, you'll be pulled out."

"And without luck?"

"L7s have a lot of latitude. And I have a lot of vacation time saved up."

Hawkeye turned back to the road. "Three or four months, huh?"

"I promise you'll be much too busy to pine."

"You think I pine?"

"I've seen you in the throes of a new relationship. You are an olympic level piner. If they gave out scholarships for pining, you would have a four-year, full-ride -- "

"Fine, I get it."

"You are like a winter forest full of pine -- "

"Coulson!"

Coulson smiled a little.

"You're an ass," Hawkeye said. "I can say that, now that we're peers."

"I never noticed you holding back before."

"Now I feel secure in my assertion. My _ass_ sertion."

"Yes, thank you, Hawkeye."

"You're seriously not going to call me Clint?"

He'd used Clint's name before. Not often; usually he was Hawkeye, Barton, or Agent Barton, in ascending order of how much trouble he was in. Formerly, "Clint" had been reserved mainly for moments they were either in imminent danger of dying or one of them was nearly there. It'd happened a few times.

"Clint," he said, trying it out, and glanced at him. Clint was grinning.

"We got three days between here and New York," Clint said, slouching down in his seat and putting his sunglasses on, turning back to face front. He picked up the phone again, picked out some swing, and settled in. "That's long enough to get a start on you."

Coulson checked the GPS -- eighteen hundred miles to New York. Another hundred or so if they detoured to Chicago, but he wasn't sure it was worth the Blues Brothers joke.

In the seat, Clint sat quietly, content to let the lack-of-scenery pass, and waited. Coulson gave up on thinking for now, and got lost in the road and the music.

***

Eighteen hundred miles away, at the Port Authority terminal in New York, a dark-haired young man climbed off a bus.

It hadn't been a pleasant ride, but he'd suffered worse on hunts and in battle. He'd seen quite a lot of this realm now. And nobody sat next to him, no matter how full the bus was. Loki smiled a little.

He'd picked up odds and ends, and a sack to carry them in, along the way. Some were stolen, like the snacks in their shiny little packages and the music box, the one like Darcy's, that played so many wonderfully complicated and devastatingly shallow Midgardian tunes. Other things in the bag were given freely, like the "magazines" full of shiny photographs and interesting insights into the Midgardian condition that an old woman had given him once she was finished with them.

He didn't particularly need clothing; he could fashion any he liked, and he had to cloak himself in illusion anyway, to hide his helm from view. Most often he chose to wear the tough blue trousers and the yellow "Fluttershy" shirt that Darcy had given him, now in much better repair than it had been towards the end.

Once he was free of the hall in which the buses congregated, he lifted his head and breathed deep. The air was rich with smells: Midgardians by the million, cats and dogs and rats and mice, fresh food and rotting. Electricity. _Power._

And the water, very close by, where he would find what he was looking for. He'd decided, during the long bus journey, that there was one thing he needed more than anything else in Midgard.

It wasn't difficult to reach the water's edge, which was surrounded by old buildings and wide stretches of paved land. There were few grass or trees, but birds were still plentiful: gulls, sparrows, starlings, ducks. And crows.

He sat for ages, watching them pick their way along the docks, tossing out little crumbs from the food he'd acquired until one came close. She was young -- old enough to know how a crow should act, young enough not to be too wary yet. Young enough to be curious. To be trained.

"Yes, you will do," he said, as she took a crumb from his fingers. He touched her head once, lightly, and she left the ground, flapping up to sit on his shoulder.

"Come now, my lovely little spy," he added, rising from his crouch and stroking her glossy black feathers gently. "We have much to do in this realm."

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! And just in case you thought Loki in a Fluttershy shirt was as funny as I did, have a look at Jean's [awesome art](http://jeandrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/32903096913/some-quick-fanart-for-my-friend-sam-of-his-latest) for the story!


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